


Riddle

by evening_spirit



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Detectives, Disabled Character, Epilepsy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not-SEAL Steve, Permanent Injury, Private Investigator, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative Universe. Steve was with his mother when she had the 'accident' and it left him damaged. Thanks to the character traits that make him a 'freaking ninja' in canon, in the eighteen years that passed since the injury he managed to overcome most of his handicaps. The unfulfilled dreams and unrealized ambitions remain though.</p><p>Then his father gets killed and, in search for the murderer Steve will find what he never expected to -- a challenge, new possibilities and ... an unlikely friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by bigj52

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. I borrowed them and I broke them. Don't know if I'll return them fixed.

_W plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It's just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn't have expected._  
 **~Ben Okir**

 

* * *

He should have been there.

Steve looked at the house - dark, empty, lifeless, surrounded by black-and-yellow crime scene tape - and his only thought was that he had been late.

Back then, when he'd first come.

He had escaped then, his behavior irrational, foolish, only to return at night, under the cover of darkness like a thief. He couldn't afford to waste any more time though. He needed to retrieve something that belonged to his father and he had to hurry, before the police would lay their hands on it. A tool box that - he'd noticed a few months ago - did not contain tools but something else entirely. He had no idea what those items were, what they meant and he'd been too stubborn or too proud maybe to ask his Old Man about it. He'd rather his father told him on his own; he'd rather dad trusted him enough to fill him in on what he'd been investigating. Perhaps today's phone call had been about that and, because of his foolish pride, Steve had let go of the only chance he'd been given.

"I need to tell you something, Champ," Dad had said and Steve's breath caught. Champ, Champion ... It was some fathers' term of endearment for their sons but not Jack McGarrett's. Not even ...  _before_. No, the word had made Steve's heart pump faster simply because it was on the box. On  _The Box_. It must have meant something if Dad had chosen this morning to say it to Steve.

Steve hadn't intended to make it easy for him though. He would make his Old Man wait, like he had waited. Petty revenge - he now saw it for what it had been. He hadn't predicted then, he had no way of predicting, that it had been the last time they spoke. Dad probably had known.

Had he a gun pointed at his head even then? Unlikely. He wouldn't have asked Steve to come, he would never put his son's life at risk. But something must have happened, he must have thought his phone was wired, hence the cryptic message. He must have known someone was coming.

And Steve should have been there with him.

Instead he had promised to come by later, after he'd finish work. No, not right away, he couldn't, sorry. The shop had been busy; they'd been a mechanic short. Then one more job had rolled in and even though at the time he could have left it to one of the other guys, he'd taken his time. When he had finally shown up at his father's house in the evening, the police had already been processing the scene.

Someone in the sensation-craving crowd had told him that Jack McGarrett had been murdered, shot in the head in his own house. A neighbor who'd only realized who she'd been talking to after the words had left her mouth.

He had fled then, the feeling of impending doom so strong that he couldn't deal with it in the open, among all those people, in front of the police officers, his father's former colleagues and in front of his father's spirit. He had felt his father's presence then, a huge ghost of all years past, screaming at him, "You should have been there."

You should have died too.

Just like you should have died in that car, all those years ago.


	2. Crime Scene

Detective Danny Williams had eighty-three homicide cases under his belt. Then why, since he'd come to Hawaii, was he dealing with robberies and carjacking? That's why - he was a  _haole_. That was the fancy name the Hawaiians used for the white people from the mainland. They claimed it had no derogatory connotations, was not racist  _at all_ , yet that was exactly how it felt. Racist and bigoted.

Danny was a  _haole_ , an outsider. He didn't fit in and  _didn't want to_ fit in, thank you very much. If they didn't want him, he wasn't going to go down on his knees and he most definitely wasn't going to change who he was. He freely expressed his radical and unpopular opinions about the beach, the pineapple and fluffy pink flowers and he insisted on wearing a tie because if there were important things in Danny Williams' life, being professional was one of them. He was a police detective, he was good at his job and he was damn proud of it.

The only person who marginally put up with his mainlandish ways was his partner, Meka Hanamoa. The native Hawaiian was good enough detective himself to appreciate competence when he saw one. They respected each other and even had a beer or two after hours to celebrate a well cracked case. Once, Danny was invited to Meka's home for a barbeque. In fact, they were slowly becoming friends.

And then, Detective Williams was given his first homicide case in Hawaii.

Of course everything about it screamed,  _'don't get excited,'_  from the very start. First, Meka was nowhere to be found when Danny was called in to the crime scene. Chief Mahaka told him to take care of the matters on his own, which was a tough job, because the teams at the scene weren't eager to cooperate with a  _haole_. Then he realized they were dealing with a murder of a retired HPD officer, someone the Chief certainly knew and Danny couldn't understand why the boss had given this case to a detective he did not respect and whose job would be sabotaged at every turn?

There were no witnesses. Forensics were lazy and sloppy. The ballistics report would not be available until tomorrow afternoon and that if they wouldn't get more pressing cases. What the hell would get higher priority than a murder of a colleague? Danny had dealt with all kinds of matter resistance, stupidity and bureaucracy back in New Jersey but they'd never ignore one of their own being killed - execution style.

It was all Danny could do, to give all he had into this case. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that nobody else cared so, late in the evening, he found himself approaching the silent house.

There was a car, some old, black, rusty beast parked at a neighboring property. Danny didn't recall it standing there in the afternoon.

The front door were left ajar, something even sloppiest crime scene unit wouldn't omit.

Detective Williams drew his gun and tiptoed inside. The front room was dark and empty but Danny could clearly see the overturned chair, white lines indicating where the body had fallen. Blood stains on the wall weren't perceptible but he had seen them earlier, in the light of day and now memory provided a vivid picture.

He was about to clear the next room - the study - when a sound from the garage caught his attention. Likely, the perpetrator was there. His gun raised, Danny crept through the corridor, holding his breath. He cursed himself something stupid for letting his pride and ambition surpass common sense. Visiting the crime scene without backup at such ungodly hour? He had not acted this moronic since his rookie years. What had he expected to find? The killer was the most certain bet, because some of those psychos were getting off on seeing the murder site again and again.

The door frame gave off a tiny squeak when Danny stepped on it, betraying his presence to whoever was inside. Damn.

"You!" The detective didn't waste any more time. "Hands up, don't move!" he yelled at the man standing at the counter in the far corner of the room.

The stranger was leaning over a red tool box, closing the lid on it but at the sound of Danny's voice he turned toward him and obediently lifted his hands a notch. Didn't appear otherwise intimidated.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" he growled before Danny managed to ask the question.

Oh, okay. "I am Detective Danny Williams of the Honolulu PD," he introduced himself. "Who are you?"

"Steve McGarrett. This is my father's house."

That made Danny stop for a heart-beat.

The notion that McGarrett had a son caught him off guard. Nothing in the house screamed 'family'; there were no pictures of any children or a wife - correction, woman, the children's mother - on display. McGarrett might have been divorced; if anyone knew about the strain being a police officer put on a family, that would be Danny Williams. He had pictures of his daughter everywhere he could put them though and John McGarrett had none of any children.

Danny took a step closer, trying to see the stranger's features in the faint moonlight. He couldn't say he'd be an expert in gauging semblance between his victim and the man standing in front of him now, not having met John McGarrett before today - in the coroner's office. Difference in hair color didn't rule out family. The posture? The stranger was almost certainly taller than his presumed father, of frailer built. His face was shadowed and Danny couldn't really see it. What he could see though, despite darkness, were his eyes and their intense glare.

He lowered his gun reluctantly, refraining from holstering it just yet.

"Let me see some ID," he demanded but toned his voice down, in case the man was actually honest.

The man in question remained unfazed. He lowered his hands, the left one landing protectively on the lid of the box - and Danny's detective instincts went into overdrive at that. The box, there was something about this box - he measured Danny from head to toe and threw him off his scent again, saying in a calm, lightly mocking tone,

"What about your ID? You're the one wielding a gun in here." He nodded at the pistol. "You're the one who should explain yourself."

Danny snorted. The guy was acting as if he was not trespassing the police-sealed house at all. He was arrogant and self-confident to the point it was no longer amusing. In fact, he was rather annoying. " _I_ should explain myself?" The Detective waved his hand - and wielded the gun in it, indeed - justifiably offended. "He says I should explain myself! I'm not someone snooping around the crime scene! I'm a police officer doing my job!"

"Am I supposed to believe that just because you say so?" the stranger cut in.

And he had a point.

Danny gritted his teeth and reached to his back pocket. He wasn't sure if the intruder's impertinence angered him more, or the fact that he was actually right.

"Okay!" he barked. "All right. That's my badge, satisfied? Now's your turn!"

Steve McGarrett - if it really was him - eyed the badge from the distance then he pulled his own document - a freshly printed, probably never-before-used P.I. license in a shiny new cover. Danny took a step closer and he couldn't deny that the man in the picture was a merrier version of the one standing before him and the name it was issued for was Steven J. McGarrett. It could have been fake, of course, but then - it would probably look more worn out. And who would fake a P.I. license for identification purposes? It didn't make sense. If he wanted to fake an ID, it would rather be a driver's license or a passport.

Fine then, as far as Danny was concerned, the intruder's identity was confirmed. It was his presence at the house that was still problematic.

"Listen," Danny said, moving forward and finally holstering his gun. "I'm really sorry about your father, but you can't be here right now. This is an active crime scene."

"Doesn't seem all that active," McGarrett deadpanned, once more throwing Danny off his game.

What was it about him that he wanted to antagonize the only person that was actually on his side? His father was just murdered and most likely no one beside Detective Danny Williams wanted to find the killer. Maybe the guy suspected things would be like this, maybe he thought this detective was just like the rest of them. Danny wanted to assure him that he wasn't, that he would do everything in his power to solve the case of John McGarrett's murder. And that he was good at it, he had eighty three homicide cases to prove it.

"I'm sorry," he tried to show he was friendly. "I am doing all I can." Yeah, friendly, compassionate and considerate. And at the same time firm and professional. "But you can't be here right now. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

He didn't really believe Steve McGarrett would understand and cooperate. However, as he was trying to come up with some more convincing argumentation, McGarrett responded with simple, "You got it." And ... he grabbed the toolbox and attempted to pass the detective, who was blocking the only way out of the garage.

Now, that was not only unexpected, but also outrageous.

"And you can leave the box!" Danny managed to latch onto McGarrett's arm. He had no business getting physical with the man, he didn't want to hurt him and risk a lawsuit but he couldn't let him simply walk out. "That is evidence and you know that."

McGarrett shrugged and said with an arrogant smirk, "I came with this."

"No, you didn't come with it." Danny made a mistake of turning away and pointing at the counter, at the same time loosening his grip. "I see the dust-void it left right here. What's in the box?--" When he turned back to the man, McGarrett was three steps away and closer to the doorway.

"How long have you been with the Honolulu PD?" he asked, still with that smirk, his eyes laser-sharp.

This shouldn't have mattered. This shouldn't have been an issue, but it was. Each time. Danny sighed with exasperation.

"It's none of your damn business," he uttered.

"You know, it is my business if you're investigating my father's death."

"I am. And I'd like to get back to that, so the sooner you leave the sooner I can." He no longer knew if he was asking or telling. He no longer had control of the situation - if he ever had it to begin with.

"Anything you say." McGarrett bowed curtly and turned for the door again, switching the box from his left to his right hand.

Danny couldn't let him take the evidence.

"Leave the box or get arrested!" His feet carried him after McGarrett and, as he was about to grab the taller man's arm, he spun around and his fist connected with Danny's jaw in a perfect left hook.

It was a strong hit. Danny's world went black for a blink of an eye and when the fog in his head dissipated he found himself crouching on the floor. It took another moment to scramble to his feet and when he ran out of the house after McGarrett, all he had left to admire were red tail lights in the distance.


	3. Conflicting Rumors

Meka Hanamoa was a native Hawaiian. He was not a Local Boy, like all the Chinese, Japanese, Korean, as well as born-and-raised-on-the-Islands White Guys were called. No, in his veins flew blood of the great Kamehameha himself. Well, it seemed that every native Hawaiian had a droplet of blood of the great Kamehameha but that was a whole different kettle of fish.

Like every real ... not Hawaiian, because it was hard to tell what was the favorite morning drink of every native Hawaiian - but like every real cop, Meka Hanamoa liked his morning coffee. So this morning Danny Williams took two steaming cups from the coffee machine - no sugar, no cream - and brought them to Meka's desk before his partner even managed to get to his chair.

Meka eyed him suspiciously.

"What do you want, Williams?" he asked.

"Oh, please. I can't even bring coffee to my partner without being accused of some ulterior motives? No, wait! Don't answer that. You have a point." Danny pulled himself a chair from his desk and leaned on Meka's with both his elbows. "I want you to tell me something."

Meka sighed theatrically and sat down as well. "Go ahead."

"What do you know about Steve McGarrett?"

His partner was about to take a sip of his coffee but he froze with the cup half-way to his mouth and blinked owlishly at Danny a couple of times.

"You mean Jack McGarrett's son?" he choked out eventually.

"The one and only."

Meka took his time to take a careful sip as he pondered on the response. "I don't really know all that much," he uttered eventually. "Old McGarrett wasn't really talking about it, you know." He looked at Danny as if Danny was supposed to _know_. "The accident?" Danny still didn't know. He shrugged and shook his head, so Meka put his cup down and took to clarifying. "Some fifteen years ago -- maybe twenty, I'm not sure -- McGarrett's wife died in a car crash. Apparently Steve was with her in that car."

Oh. Well, an injury might be the reason he moved like he wasn't very comfortable in his own skin. There was something vaguely odd about his stance and build, something the detective couldn't quite put his finger on.

"How badly was he hurt?"

"That's the thing," Meka lowered his voice as if he was about to share a secret. "No one really knows." He glanced around the precinct but no one paid any attention to the two detectives discussing their detective things, so he looked back at Danny. "There were rumors. You know, all kinds of them. I don't know if you're interested in rumors?" Danny was. He was interested in anything he could get because he had a  _hunch_ that following this lead would give him some answers about his case. Steve McGarrett held the key. Or the toolbox which held the key. He had to find Steve McGarrett but first he wanted to learn as much as possible about the man. Fortunately Meka, as any good southern citizen - be it Texan, or Italian, or any damn Hawaiian - was a gossip.

"Okay. First of all, the Steve McGarrett Legend had it that the kid had some incredibly promising career ahead of him; he was a quarterback at Kukui High School and he broke all the records, even though he was not even a Junior yet. You know how legends grow; the accident ruined a promising future and all that." Meka took another sip of his coffee and shook his head while Danny thought he'd have a hard time trying to weed out the probable facts from the profusion of rumors. There was a grain of truth in every lie but judging by what he'd just heard gossip in Hawaii seemed to have a life of its own.

"What about the accident?" he prodded.

"Oh, the accident. Where do I start?" Meka scratched his chin. "Some people said the kid took a blow to the head, others said he broke his back. Supposedly he was in a coma for six months, then he woke up but couldn't walk or talk. Then again, other people say he never woke up to this day. Either way, and that's mostly consistent, supposedly his old man got him a place in a nursing home on Kaua'i - that's the island to the west. Even if he woke up from that coma, he's most likely, you know, unable to fend for himself. In a vegetative state. Anyway, that's probably where you could find him but I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

Danny shook his head. All that information didn't really add up, what with the guy he'd met last night. He glared at Meka and pointed to his cheek.

"Does that look like it was done by someone who couldn't fend for themselves?"

Meka's eyes went round and he stuttered, "I noticed that but ... Who did ... you mean?..."

"He introduced himself as Steve McGarrett and he was trespassing at the crime scene last night."

"Then he was obviously lying!" Meka raised his voice with tenacity that surprised Danny and attracted the attention of Detective Kaleo sitting at a desk nearby. "Sorry," Meka sighed and bowed his head, shoulders slumped.

Danny watched him for a long moment and his partner eventually shrugged under his scrutiny.

"I liked McGarrett," he admitted with hurt in his eyes. "When I first started here -- it was six years ago when I moved in from the Big Island -- he was still working. We didn't do cases together but from how he spoke to me I could tell he was a good guy. The problem was he didn't have any friends. Well, he had one, his partner, Chin Ho Kelly and after Kelly was discharged..." He waved his hand. "That's a different story. Anyway, there were always rumors about McGarrett, because he kept to himself. And some of those rumors were really hurtful. See, some people claimed that Steve came out of that accident unharmed. Or with a broken arm or something as trivial. And that the old man cut all ties with him, because he blamed him for his mother's death. That, in fact, old McGarrett was the one who was making up all those rumors about Kaua'i and near death and all that. But I never believed it, you know. Jack didn't seem like such a vengeful person. And toward his own son? No. I'll never believe that."

Danny hated to make good people sad and quite frankly the idea wasn't very appealing to him either but that second concept? In light of it, Steve McGarrett's odd behavior yesterday was actually beginning to make sense.

He showed up at the crime scene; that alone should have flared suspicions and Danny couldn't believe his let his compassion get the better of him. His instinct was rarely wrong but perhaps all those Hawaiians were right after all and he simply had no idea how this island worked? Besides, McGarrett took something from the house, he attacked a police officer and then he fled.

His posture had some awkwardness to it but serious injury would have had more pronounced effects. That awkwardness could easily be explained by a minor injury though.

Combine that with Meka's account of Steve and his father having a grudge - a serious grudge at that - and it could be the motive. He had a P.I. license, so he most likely had a gun license as well; Danny would check it in a moment. That would give him means. Family members were, by definition, under special scrutiny and Danny should have considered him from the beginning, now he cursed himself that he hadn't. Sad as it was, Steve McGarrett was the most probable suspect in his father's murder case.

"I'm gonna have to find Steve McGarrett then," Danny said quietly, standing up. He wondered how to do that. Should he find that Chin Ho Kelly guy first, or maybe go to the Kaua'i facility? Before he made any further move though, the answer came on its own. Danny noticed a man standing at the door, with a red toolbox in hand.

He was talking to one of the officers and the said officer turned and pointed at Danny, revealing the man's face.

It was Steve McGarrett himself.


	4. Mind Games

Danny experienced a brief 'what the fuck?' moment because, hell, who would be stupid enough to steal property from a crime scene, then simply come to the police station to return it? What kind of a game was McGarrett playing?

It didn't matter because he'd soon find himself in cuffs.

"You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer on duty." Danny strode right to him and grabbed his wrists. He noticed that his right arm felt a bit more rigid and his now-suspect jerked and hissed as Danny cuffed his hands behind his back. The officer had already taken the box from McGarrett and now handed it to the detective. "Let's go!" Danny grabbed his prisoner's arm and pushed him toward the interrogation room, where he bound him to the table by his left wrist. McGarrett was either left-handed - as proven by yesterday's left hook - or his right hand was indeed damaged in the accident. Grain of truth in every rumor, he thought as he stared at that hand, fingers curled in a fist, held close to body.

"Is this really necessary?" the prisoner asked with amusement.

Danny looked up sharply, ready for another battle of wits and met his eyes. There was no hint of amusement in them, nor of last night's arrogance. Those were the baby blues of a little lost boy, bloodshot from apparent lack of sleep, the look in them contradicting the tone. The detective hesitated.

No, cuffing him was not necessary, was the simple response. The captive had no way of getting out of the precinct so it wasn't even a precaution. The truth was Danny did that simply as a way of payback for last night's humiliation, he knew that and he didn't care if it was petty.

He took his time glaring at McGarrett, trying to gauge the purpose, the motivation, the real deal underneath all the pretense, as he walked around the table and sat opposite the prisoner.

"It depends," he replied. "Why are you here?"

"I came to return the box," McGarrett shrugged, his eyes meeting Danny's dead-on, a minute motion of his chin indicating the mentioned item, now prominently poised on the table. After a split second he shook his head, blinked and looked away abruptly, taking in a quivering breath. "I'm sorry I took it yesterday. I don't know what happened. I guess I freaked out, what with everything..." Now he sounded desperate and the detective wondered how much of it was sincere helplessness and how much was nothing more than a damn sham. McGarrett's eyes found their way back to the detective and he frowned. "Did I hit you?" He nodded at the bruise on Danny's chin.

That was stretching things a bit too much.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Danny leaned forward. "What makes you think I'm stupid? What, explain to me, because I can't understand, what makes you think that coming here,  _with the box_  was such a grand, impressive idea? That it would make me do what? Bow down with gratitude, or what?"

McGarrett raised his brow and for a second he lost his studied tormented demeanor, looking rather incredulous and even amused once more, proving right there to Danny that he was trying to put on a face that wasn't true. He shook his head and broke eye contact, dropped his gaze. Inhaled, regained control over his facial expression.

Danny didn't let him cut in.

"I don't care about your box!" he announced. "Whatever's in it now is not the same thing that was there last night." He folded his arms on his chest.

"Why wouldn't it?..." now McGarrett looked genuinely surprised and Danny could hit himself upside the head because it was so obvious that the prisoner  _wanted_  the conversation to go in this direction. He was ready and waiting for  _this particular_  accusation and he had all the anwers prepared and rehearsed. "Look man, I was in some kind of shock last night, okay? My father was killed, I-" he shook his head, spreading his arms, at least as much as the cuffs allowed. "Frankly I can't remember everything clearly," he admitted in a broken voice but was still looking directly at Danny through narrowed eyelids.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake!_ Danny wanted to scream. This guy couldn't seriously think that he would fool him this easily. His body language was inconsistent to begin with. He tried to feign vulnerability and confusion but he was maintaining eye contact most of the time, unless he remembered he shouldn't. His stance was loose, chest open, arms and legs apart; he was not hunched over like he would be if he was really feeling as insecure as he wanted the detective to think. He didn't even fold his arms on his chest as a gesture of defensiveness.

Danny Williams had met enough perps of this sort in his career. Steve McGarrett was a self-confident alpha male who for some reason believed he was invincible. He thought he would outsmart the police, probably the court and maybe Lucifer himself, but this time he was going at it the wrong way. Maybe it had worked before, on Daddy's colleagues, the compassion angle, or whatever he was aiming for, but it wouldn't be that easy anymore. Not with the detective from the East Coast.

He wanted to play a game? Danny would play a game. And let's see who's got bigger chops.

"Alright," he sat back, quickly going over the strategies in his head. The best in this case? Fight fire with fire, no more beating around the bush. "You say you can't remember what happened last night," he asked slowly and McGarrett nodded. "How about yesterday afternoon then? Around four p.m.?"

He got exactly the reaction he expected and then some. McGarrett's face tensed, his gaze, that the interrogated man tried so hard to keep shy and desolate, became sharp like a razor and so focused Danny felt like he was being cut through with laser beams.

The detective's heart picked up pace, something that only happened to him when he was in a closed space with the most dangerous criminals. Then McGarrett blinked and the laser stare was gone, only his jaw remained set. "Am I a suspect?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper yet clearly audible.

"Let's just say you'd better have a solid alibi."

The door to the interrogation room opened before McGarrett managed to respond.

"Detective, Chief wants to see you." Meka peeked in.

Timing couldn't possibly be more fucked-up.

Danny wanted to slam his hand on the table and yell that he was in the middle of an interrogation. And he'd finally taken the reins of it. He cast another look at McGarrett expecting to be met with a winning smirk and instead he saw his suspect's face averted, lips set, eyes blinking. This was no act. He really did strike a chord and as unreasonable as it was, at this moment Danny felt a little sorry for the guy.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered under his breath. He needed to distance himself, shed emotions and pay more attention to the rational aspect of the investigation. Perhaps it was all a good thing? He would leave McGarrett with an unanswered question, in limbo. This should unnerve him, throw him off balance. Danny was off balance himself. "Stay with him," he told Meka and with his back to McGarrett signaled his partner to build a rapport with the suspect. Meka should not have trouble with that; he seemed to be compassionate to the man before, as well as curious.

After he'd spoken with the Chief, Danny would come back here then they would get everything out of McGarrett together.

* * *

This, he did not expect, while he should have. Steve knew enough about police procedures to understand why family members were almost always on the preliminary suspect lists until they'd proven beyond a reasonable doubt that they were innocent. Of course Steve was innocent. He had an alibi, many people had seen him at the garage the previous afternoon, not to mention that he simply knew he  _didn't do it_. And this was why he didn't even think someone else might suspect him. This was the mistake he'd made and this was why the detective's words felt so much like a blow in the gut, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

He needed to keep his head cool, his emotional response in check. Yesterday put him in a very tricky mindset and if he didn’t concentrate, it would all blow out in a truly spectacular fashion. Steve couldn’t let that happen. He had a _purpose_ he needed to remember about and cling to if he wanted to survive and get what he came here for. So far everything was going according to the plan; the detective arrested him, got all riled up and now - as if reading Steve’s mind - the Chief had called him off. If they had made a bet, Steve could write down the words the Chief of Police was telling his detective right now then show them to the man to collect the prize.

Everything was just like he'd wanted it to be and as icing on the cake, he was now in the room with - presumably - Williams' partner. All he had to do now was to stay calm and use the situation to his advantage.

"So, it is true," the detective blurted out of the blue, apparently having watched him long enough. Steve remembered this face; the Hawaiian was in a few of his father's photographs with colleagues from the force. He didn't ask what this 'true' was all about, he wouldn’t let himself be led on. There was only  _one_  question he wanted to ask the Hawaiian and he needed to find the right moment to ask it.

"I'm Detective Hanamoa," the policeman introduced himself, taking a seat. "I am Detective Williams' partner. I see he's been a little rough with you but that's because he's a  _haole_ ; he has no idea how this Island works." His tone was relaxed and friendly. It was too obvious that Detective Hanamoa was playing a 'good cop routine' with him and Steve couldn’t believe his luck. He hadn't expected his task to be quite that easy.

"How long has he been here?" he casually tried for a little gossip. After all it was nothing else than a natural progress of conversation, wasn’t it?

"Less than half a year," Hanamoa answered. He had his own agenda though. "Brah is from New Jersey," he continued, "I don't know what kind of interrogation techniques they use out there, but..." the Hawaiian shook his head. Steve almost snorted at how transparent his efforts were. He was trying to threaten Steve with Williams, the 'bad cop'. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," Steve said quietly and lowered his head, feigning he took the bait.

It was so easy to play forlorn in front of this man; with Williams, before, it felt nearly impossible. Steve took a moment to wonder why. It wasn't simply because he needed Williams, because knowing that the guy was new in Hawaii opened up a can of possibilites he couldn't even dream of without him. He didn't know yet, of course, if Williams was really the person he needed and furthermore he couldn't know if Williams would agree -- or allow to be manipulated into helping him out. Still, there was more to it. And it was strictly the man's own character that made Steve itch to show him who had the upper hand. And that might very well lead to disaster. Steve needed to restrain himself.

It was a challenge, he realized. Williams was a challenge and Steve lived to overcome any challenge thrown at him. It was almost painful to give up on the confrontation before it even started.

"Do you need anything?" Hanamoa's sudden polite question was so out of place, Steve had to grit his teeth not to snap at the man. "Water maybe?"

"No, I'm good," he uttered. He needed to control himself. Breathe in and out, slow, shallow breaths. Don't aggrevate his already rattled mind. He was not threatened by Williams, was he?

He was supposed to be. Hanamoa was trying to convince him to be afraid but even if Steve was - not afraid, anxious maybe, apprehensive - it was not because of fancy 'New Jersey interrogation techniques'. No, what was scary was the fact that Detective Williams appeared to be an exceptionally bright guy, not easily intimidated and driven. These were all good things,  _great_  things if Steve could win Williams to his side. They were also dangerous if he played his cards wrong now and then his suspicions about his father's case turned to be true.

No, he stopped himself, as familiar feeling of déjà vu crept under his skull. He couldn't dwell on his father's case, not this early, not today. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, control his breathing, think about the ocean, the cool water on his skin. His treacherous mind kept telling him it was all futile but he hoped to at least make it through the next couple of minutes.

He glanced at the door. Williams should be back now.

"Look," Hanamoa placed a hand on the table almost as if he wanted to touch Steve, comfort him maybe. "If he hurts you, he's gonna have  _everyone_  in this precinct, from the Chief, to the office cleaner, myself included, on his ass." Steve looked up. Seriously? Hanamoa's eyes were glued to him convincing, sincere. Or... "We all respected your father, you know," he added in a meaningful whisper.

Was it still friendliness, or ... a threat?

Okay, maybe it was the latter. Maybe it was another mind game played, another man simply suspecting him of this thing he couldn’t even think about, but that did not matter now. Steve had to distance himself from the unjust accusations and the hurt they caused because this? This was that opening he needed to ask  _his question_.

"The  _haole_  doesn't have many friends here, does he?" he said and prayed that the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest wouldn't betray how much the answer meant to him.

"Well," Hanamoa shrugged and withdrew his hand. "He doesn't exactly  _try_  to make friends. Have you seen anyone else wearing a tie in Hawaii?" He smiled and winked. "The man thinks he's still in New Jersey." The Hawaiian smirked and Steve smiled in response, a broad, honest smile, not caring anymore what his interlocutor would think, because this news? Was the confirmation of what he suspected and what he very much needed.

Detective Williams was an outsider in the precinct.

Of course if it came to interrogating  _him_  and if Steve was really guilty, the precinct would co-operate even with the _haole_  but since that was not the case, Williams was the best 'in' Steve could use.

The door burst open. Detective Williams stormed in, riled up even more than before.

"You're free to go!" he seethed and leaned to unlock the cuffs on Steve's wrist. Then he straightened and if glares could burn... Steve wanted to hug him and tell him he loved him. He was sure some of it was visible on his face, because Williams turned pale as a sheet and spat, "And take that box with you!"

"You keep it," Steve couldn't help but smile. His plan was fully realized, everything he wanted - happened and as a bonus he now knew for sure ... well  _almost_  for sure, you can never be too careful - that Danny Williams was just the man he was looking for.

Now all he needed was for the detective to come after him.

As he was walking out to the sunny Honolulu street, he realized that even the ominous déjà vu was gone.

"I'm gonna make it, Dad," he whispered up to the sky.


	5. Push and Pull

Idiots, Danny decided, they were all idiots. Chief Mahaka, the biggest of them all.

"You can't arrest Steve McGarrett," he'd said.

When Danny had told him about yesterday's confrontation and that McGarrett had actually  _hit_  him, the Chief had responded, "He'll be out of here in five minutes flat."

"How?"

"Because of mental incompetence," the Chief had reasoned and then proceeded to talk about brain injury and how every petty attorney would get McGarrett out without even trying.

"He's playing on those rumors! Do you know for a fact that he'd suffered a brain injury?"

"Everybody knows that!" The Chief's fist slamming on the desk aided this, obviously, ultimate reason. Apparently in Hawaii, if everyone knew something, that made it true. "If you want him for the murder of his father, get some  _real evidence_  first, because there's no way you will keep him here for a minute, let alone seventy-two hours, because he  _hit you_! He's probably gonna say he doesn't remember anything anyway!"

The fact was that McGarrett had already said that.

His arguments falling on deaf ears, Danny had no choice but to obey orders and let McGarrett go. He wasn't about to let him out of sight though.

"You tail him," he told Meka. "I have to check two things first, then I'll catch up with you."

McGarrett had a P.I. license. Danny had to find out what agency he worked for and whether he had a gun license issued to his name. He got a confirmation of both - or rather all three questions. The allowance to carry a concealed handgun was issued two months ago, the minimum waiting time required after he got his P.I. license. _Mental incompetence, my ass_ , Danny thought. McGarrett also had a Sig Sauer P226 E2 registered in his name and Danny whistled with admiration for the man's taste in weaponry. This was a professionals' gun-of-choice, popular due to its accuracy and reliability. Danny wouldn't mind having one like this himself, so apparently McGarrett knew one or two things about weapons.

Except that, Danny remembered, he was not someone to be admired. Currently, all clues pointed to him being a bad guy.

Danny shook his head, entering new parameters into the search engine. He couldn't understand his own behavior. Why hadn't he arrested McGarrett first thing? He’d been trespassing crime scene for God's sake. Why wasn't Danny even slightly suspicious? He should have been suspicious. Apparently he was losing his skills as a detective; they atrophied, like unused muscles. It was terrifying.

The computer supplied the answer to the other query - McGarrett was listed as a trainee and then, for the last three months, as a detective in a P.I. agency called 'Five-0'. Owner? Chin Ho Kelly. This was the guy Meka had mentioned earlier, John McGarrett's former partner. A guy - as Danny quickly checked - accused of fraud and stealing, charges unconfirmed. Kelly worked full-time in Pearl Harbor as a Security on the Museum Ship  _USS Missouri_ while the agency ran idle. It was registered almost two years ago and had no case record.

If this wasn't strange, Danny was going to give up his badge.

He called Meka, got his voice-mail and left him a message that he was going to Pearl Harbor to talk to Kelly. He trusted his partner would check what McGarrett was up to, meanwhile he would investigate the case from the other angle.

A hundred percent humidity and temperatures around hundred degrees did not agree with Danny Williams. When he got out of his air-conditioned Camaro, he was hit with a wave of boiling-hot air that threatened to choke him. How was he supposed to work in these conditions? Blazing sun was hurting his eyes even through shades and he didn't even like wearing shades.

"I'm looking for Chin Ho Kelly?" he approached the first Asian in a uniform and - oh joy! - he happened to be the man himself. "Detective Danny Williams." Danny flashed his badge. "I have a few questions, where can we talk?"

Kelly took him to a nearby canteen - it was marginally cooler in there, but no less humid - and they sat at the table with two cups of mean black coffee. Danny started his interview.

"You know about John McGarrett's murder, don't you?"

Kelly narrowed his eyes and said, instead of answering the question, "You're the  _haole_  the Chief assigned to the case."

Danny gritted his teeth.

"You may insult me all you want," he warned. "I'm still gonna get those answers out of you."

"Who says I don't want to answer your questions?" Kelly spread his arms, all innocence and full co-operation. "Ask away."

For some reason, instead of placating him, it only made Danny more annoyed, what was in all likelihood Kelly's intention anyway. Danny took a moment to find his inner calm and wondered what was Kelly's position in all of this. He was an ex-partner of John McGarrett on the force and he and Steve McGarrett were now partners in that - mostly fictional - P.I. agency. Those were the facts. What was the purpose of the agency? Was it a cover for something? Were Kelly and younger McGarrett doing something illegal and the father found out? Steve McGarrett's motive could have been resentment, family grudge, but it may have also been more complicated and Kelly might be an accomplice to the crime.

"How well did you know McGarrett?"

"We were close. I considered him my friend." Kelly paused and leaned forward. "Which is why I want to find his murderer and have him brought to justice. Which is why I hope you have the chops to get this job done." He sat back, arms folded on his chest.

Danny frowned. What was that supposed to be? A threat? Defense? An attempt to mislead? Or an honest statement? Truthfully, there was no reason to doubt Kelly's sincerity. Other than suspicious circumstances of 'Five-0' and the yet unexplained relationship between him and the two McGarretts. Who was he really friends with - the father or the son?

"When did you last see him?"

"Last Sunday. We had barbeque at his place and remembered the good old times."

"The two of you?"

"The three of us. Steve was there too."

That was a confusing revelation if, as Danny believed, Steve and John were at odds. "Did they argue?"

"No," was Kelly's immediate, natural response and, when the implications of the question registered with him, he glared at Danny. "Are you suspecting Steve?" he asked as if it was the worst atrocity in the whole world.

"I have to investigate all possibilities," Danny admitted, watching Kelly's reactions closely. "How would you describe the general relationship between the two of them?"

Kelly shook his head, opened his mouth to reply and then shut them and frowned at something over Danny's right arm.

Danny spun on his stool and ... faced Steve McGarrett.

This was a surprise. He didn't really wonder where his suspect would go once released from the precinct, but he should have gotten some warning from Meka. Unless Meka didn't get his message. Either way, this was not important right now; Danny's brain was already analyzing this new situation, the obstacles and the probable outcomes. He couldn't, obviously, continue the interview with Chin Ho Kelly in a pre-planned manner and picking up the interrogation of McGarrett from where it had been interrupted was not an option either. He needed to apply different tactics and he didn't yet know how he was going to proceed, so he briefly focused on observation.

McGarrett loomed over them, tall and overly loud. He smiled, apparently relaxed. "Ah, there you are!" he greeted Danny as if they were buddies who had a meeting but mixed up locations and were looking for each other half the morning. But despite this boisterous bravado Danny saw, now more profound than earlier, dark shadows underneath his blood-shot eyes and deep vertical creases framing his mouth. He noticed stiffness in his movements as he and Kelly bumped fists and heard an involuntary grunt when he sat down at the head of the table, between the two of them. When he looked up at Danny he was still grinning, but his dark hazel eyes were wary and focused.

"Great to see you again, Detective Williams," he said in a friendly manner. "I thought I lost you. You may believe my joy at seeing you here, waiting for me, is enormous."

"Why, thank you," Danny mocked. "I'm humbled I mean so much for you. Wait a minute! You wanted to speak with me? But why didn't you do it at the precinct, I was all for it. Oh, you didn't want all the witnesses, did you? That's why all the pretense. I must admit I feel special that you went to so much trouble just to lure me out. There must have been easier ways?"

"Maybe." McGarrett nodded. "Just not quick enough. I need to ask you a few questions." He went straight to business.

"Whoa!" Danny almost laughed in his face. "You want to ask  _me_  questions? Let me spell it out for you, wait a minute." He fumbled with the pocket of his pants and pulled out his badge. "You see that? This here," he pointed with his finger. "This here says I am a detective.  _I_  am asking questions.  _You_ -" Now he pointed at McGarrett's chest, "-are answering questions. Do I make myself clear?"

McGarrett stared at him, his eyebrows high.

"Are you done?" he asked incredulously and Danny's blood boiled.

"Am I done? Am I  _done_? I'm not even this close," he put his thumb and index finger a fraction apart, "to being done! When I'm done with you, you will be locked up for life-"

McGarrett's hand snapped Danny's wrist and pulled it to the table forcefully. Bolts of pain shot up to his elbow as his knuckles hit the desk. McGarrett's eyes, deep in the hollow sockets, were now dark grey like a stormy wave on the Atlantic and full of so much grief it hurt just to look into them.

"Stop. Right there," he seethed.

God, Danny realized the guy was barely holding reins on some massive inner fury and that this fury was probably the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. It was like he was balancing on the tip of a pin and if he fell he'd either blow like a nuclear warhead or collapse unconscious. He slowly released Danny's wrist from a steely grip, breathing only so-so, never taking his eyes off Danny.

Okay, so Danny got a little carried away, he admitted in his head, trying very hard to resist the urge to rub the ache left by McGarrett's fingers. Instead of controlling the situation he let it control him and he let his tongue loose. McGarrett was irritating, but that was not reason enough for witty charades with a probable murder suspect. Obviously an intelligent murder suspect at that, Danny couldn't hold back a hint of esteem. He had to be on his best behavior if he wanted this man to slip up.

If he indeed was guilty, something in Danny's mind supplied. There was no evidence, only the behavioral clues provided mostly by Meka Hanamoa, based on some gossip. On the other hand, the way McGarrett reacted to the accusations was gut-reflex, honest in its indignation and hurt. To close to the unconscious to be an act. Danny was a detective, not judge and jury and he had to get to the bottom of this before he started to place charges. Be objective. Ask questions, like he was taught at school.

"How long have you been with the HPD?" McGarrett asked before Danny managed to suck in a breath.

Danny, once more, was thrown off his game. He was supposed to be in control of this situation, but McGarrett apparently didn't get the memo and he kept pushing. The detective needed to take over, if not by force than cunning. Why was this question so damn important. Was it, like Kelly said a moment ago, because they both doubted if he had chops to do this job?

"Look," he started, trying to be patient and work toward a higher ground. "I know you somehow think you're entitled to that information but let me tell you something. It doesn't. Matter. It doesn't change my ability to find out who did this. I've been a detective long enough and I have all the experience that's needed."

"I hope that you do," McGarrett sat back, relaxing a notch. "But it _does_ matter. Maybe not how long _per se_ and besides, I know it already, your partner had told me that you came here half a year ago. Unwillingly I gather, as you still play New Jersey with the tie and your attitude. What I really want to know is: who is your friend at the precinct? And I want to hear it from you, not from your partner."

"You are impossible, anyone ever told you that?" A snort from Chin Ho Kelly confirmed that someone had, indeed. Danny glanced at the Asian, then back at McGarrett. A soft smile was dancing on his lips as he too looked at his friend. He lost some of the edge, his eyes were not as alert any longer and a slump in his posture betrayed exhaustion. Danny felt a pang of sympathy, then another, more rational side of him realized that he could use it. He was wearing his opponent out. A moment longer and he would come on top. Instead of giving in, he asked with false nicety, "Could you, please, explain to me why I should answer your questions?"

Mc Garrett chuckled. "Because you want to know why I'm asking them," he replied simply and Danny couldn't deny the truth of those words. At the same time McGarrett's attitude brought forth the defiant streak in him.

"Do I?" he mocked. "What if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong... I would be disappointed, because I need a man with respectable wits and drive to uncover the truth, to be on my side. I thought you were this person but if you're not, you may simply get up and leave."

Danny kept his stare and couldn't believe how this man was able to read him so easily. He wasn't wrong and he was pulling Danny's strings and for a moment there Danny got scared that he just lost his chance, that it was all over. But then McGarrett allowed himself a little smirk.

"Which is what you won't do. We may stop this game, Detective." It was obvious that he wanted to tell Danny everything just as much as Danny wanted to hear it. This was his leverage.

"Is that right?" Danny took a small risk and felt small victory at McGarrett's sigh.

"That is right." McGarrett leaned in closer, weariness more and more obvious. He needed to end this conversation before he collapsed. "I'll give you an incentive. You want to know what was in the box. And I want to tell you but first I need you to tell me who are you friends with at the precinct."

Danny eyed at him for a long time, considering his options. First of all, McGarrett just admitted that there was something in the box. That he took it out and hid it someplace. The detective could get a warrant. He could search McGarrett's place top to bottom, hell, he could get a warrant to search Kelly's house too. Although. He had no idea what he would be searching for, that was the truth. Or he could give in to McGarrett, finally admit that he held all the cards and that he'd had them from the beginning.

"Can I count on your full cooperation?" he asked as if he still had ground to argue.

"You can."

"As long as it's on your terms?" he supposed.

McGarrett laughed quietly.

"You've got me figured out, Detective. Yes, I'm afraid that's part of the deal."

Danny's gaze wandered to still-present Chin Ho Kelly who appeared as if he wanted to yawn and say, 'He is so predictable.'

And he admitted that the only person he could even marginally call a friend was Meka Hanamoa. Everyone else pretty much despised him for being an unalterable _haole_. The answer seemed to please McGarrett very much.


	6. Drained

It was a huge leap to trust Detective Danny Williams. Steve didn't have a choice though; the recording in his father's toolbox started with the words, "I can't continue this investigation on the inside, I don't trust the people I work with." Danny Williams, an unwilling transplant from New Jersey, was heaven-sent. If, indeed, he was not friends with whoever was the mole.

Of course Steve wasn't going to show Williams everything. Not until he made sure that the detective could really be trusted. He gave him one thing to begin with.

"I figured this was a case-file number," he said handing the man a piece of paper with letters and numbers on it. "This must be where it all starts, this whole investigation my father was conducting outside of the precinct." He had told Williams all he knew and it wasn't much more than that: Jack McGarrett was investigating something. He hadn't trusted anyone with this, not even Steve. He had collected a number of items but he'd taken their meaning with him into the abyss. And he must have been close to uncovering the truth if someone had decided to kill him for it.

There was something in Williams' eyes when he'd revealed the basic information that had stopped Steve from delving any further. Something like doubt, like disbelief. Please, he'd prayed, please don't go to the Chief, don't tell him everything on the spot. Please, give me the benefit of the doubt.

Williams had promised to go to the Archives and look up the case John McGarrett had been trying to solve. Steve and Chin stayed in the canteen for a moment longer.

"I'll have to go back in a moment," Chin said quietly. "Being questioned by a police officer is one thing, chatting with a friend is not a good excuse to skip work."

Steve nodded. "Go." He felt as if all energy drained from him the moment the detective left and he was not more than an empty shell, a rag doll.

"How are you feeling?" Chin bent closer.

"I'm fine," Steve lied. Of course Chin knew better than to believe him.

"You need to go home and get some sleep, Steve."

"I know."

"I mean it; last night-"

"I slept!" Steve snapped. He didn't intend to and he knew Chin was simply being his caring self but some days his cooing weighted much heavier than all the fatigue and the pain and all the limitations. On the other hand, he thought, considering the circumstances Chin was probably restricting his concern to the point where he was about to burst.

"Two hours," he now pointed out with barely contained irritation. "Steve, you know..."

"I do! God." Steve wiped his face as if the gesture would remove all the unwanted qualms. Chin knew him too damn well and, of course, he knew exactly what his last night looked like. He'd come straight to his place from his father's house, brought the box, told him what happened. Together they'd run through the contents, hid them in the drawer of Chin's desk and filled the toolbox with ... tools. Then Chin tried to persuade Steve to get some rest and Steve paced and tried to figure out a plan. Yes, Chin had to put up with a lot. "Sorry." Steve couldn't bring himself to even look at his friend. His savior. His fucking lifeline. "We need to talk about stuff."

"Yeah. Like calling Mary."

No! Steve hardly stopped himself from shouting.

"Not that," he said in a whisper, tracing the edge of the tabletop with his finger, wishing it was sharp enough to cut through the skin.

"You have to call her. And take care of the funeral arrangements."

"We need to re-consider our co-operation."

"Do you want me to call her? I can do that."

"The agency. We should make it our case, you know? The box and everything."

"Steve."

They were each talking about different things and it didn't really make Steve feel weird. He had his own priorities and Chin had his. For Steve it was important to continue his father's quest, now more than ever before. He wanted to be like his old man, had always wanted that, since he could remember. Then the accident happened and he couldn't but he tried to get as close as it was humanly possible. Private Investigator was not a Police Detective but it was the most Steve could dream of. And through Chin was the only way he could get that; no other P.I. agency would hire someone like him and he couldn't get his own license without practice under an investigator with experience - something former police officer Kelly had by default.

"Steve, are you with me?"

"We need to make it our case. We need to solve it."

"We talked about this. Working on your father's case won't pay our bills. My job here, your job at the garage - that's what pays our bills, Steve."

"We need to find his killer too."

"You're not listening to me at all. You are exhausted, Steve. Please go home. I will call Mary, okay? I can call her. I can talk to the PD or the Navy about the funeral too; the M.E. should release your father's body now... Listen, I can take care of all that, all I need is your consent. You have to say yes, Steve."

"I'm not ready," Steve muttered. He didn't need to look at Chin to know that soon it wouldn't matter anymore. He ceased asking what kind of funeral Steve wanted; soon he wouldn't even wait for consent, he would simply do it, asked, or not. He probably knew best what John would have wanted anyway. "I need you to help me solve this case," Steve said stubbornly. He sounded desperate and hated himself for it. Why could he put on a self-confident, arrogant façade for Williams, a total stranger and maintain it for so long, pretend he was fine, he was normal; but left alone with Chin even for a few minutes, and he was reduced to this miserable half-human being. "Please."

Chin shook his head. "I'm sorry, Steve," he said and stood up. "I want your father's murderer to be found and brought to justice. I want the case your father worked on to be solved. But we've got to leave it to the professionals."

Steve closed his eyes and refused to acknowledge Chin's logic.

"Will you be able to sleep at all?" came a soft, hesitant question.

"I'll take a pill if I have to," Steve responded in equally quiet tone. "I know how to handle my body, Chin."

He felt Chin's hand on his arm, felt the light squeeze that sent small bolts of pain down the damaged skin. He welcomed pain at this moment, he wanted pain. He heard Chin's boots tapping against the concrete floor of the canteen as he walked farther and farther away. Sometimes Steve was so tired he wanted to lie down and die. To simply give up. And he couldn't remember ever feeling as exhausted as he did right now.

And at the same time as motivated to keep going, against all odds.


	7. Snapshots

So John McGarrett was working on some mysterious case that he couldn't tell anyone about and now Steve had some evidence in this case and he wanted Danny's help. All this smelled of conspiracy theory at best and of misdirection at worst. How simple it would be to give the detective some false evidence and send him on the wrong track?

Danny was driving through the Ford Island Bridge and cursing himself. He basically let McGarrett manipulate him. He'd agreed to play by his rules and right now it felt like he'd sold his soul to the devil.

Except not. Not really. McGarrett was not a devil and he had no way of knowing what the detective would do with the information he now possessed. Danny touched the shirt pocket on his chest where he hid a piece of paper with the case file number. McGarrett had no other entry into the precinct, whether because he couldn't trust anyone, or because no one would trust him. His father's former colleagues might have felt compassion, maybe pity, but no one would treat him seriously if he came in there with a tale like the one he'd just sold Danny.

Another surge of anger ran through him like a red-hot wave. He'd believed in a damn conspiracy theory. For a moment there, not brief at all, he'd actually bought it.

He didn't any more. Detective Daniel Williams gripped the steering wheel with determination that translated into a decision he just made. He would go straight to Chief Mahaka and he'd tell him all about the conversation he'd had and about the case file number and what McGarrett suspected. A mole in the precinct! That was impudent!

The gnawing feeling that he would be betraying someone's trust accompanied him for the rest of the drive to the precinct.

Once there, against his earlier decision, Danny didn't go to the Chief's office. He thought that perhaps he should first discuss it with his partner, because he needed another set of eyes on this. He didn't know right from wrong anymore. He also wanted to ask why he hadn't gotten any word regarding Meka's failed pursuit of McGarrett.

Meka wasn’t at his desk. Danny sat, tapping his fingers on the surface and waited. Five minutes passed. Meka was still missing.

Danny stood up and took three steps toward the Chief's office.

Then he halted and returned to his chair.

Spilling it all out to the Chief would not be fair, plain and simple. Even if McGarrett was a dangerous manipulative criminalist - which seemed less and less probable the longer he thought about it - the detective could risk wasting a couple of more hours. On the other hand, if he was just someone who trusted a police officer with their secret, failing that trust would be against Danny Williams' principles.

"Something bothering you?" Detective Kaleo, a colleague, startled him. He sneaked close so silently Danny never noticed. "McGarrett's case?" He took a seat next to Danny's desk. "How's it going?"

Why was he asking? Danny glared at him for a moment. They'd never worked together and while Danny needed to talk to someone, Detective Kaleo was not on his list of trusted friends. His sudden concern certainly didn't serve to reduce Danny's qualms. Someone in the precinct could be a mole, he remembered and ... immediately wanted to clock himself in the head. He was giving in to McGarrett's paranoia.

That made up his mind.

"I gotta talk to the Chief!" he strode toward the office.

Which, to his utter surprise, he found closed. Blinds were shut and there were people inside, talking animatedly. Danny was not one to pry but one of the voices sounded suspiciously like Hanamoa's so he stole a peek through the gap between the blinds and the doorframe and indeed it was his very own partner, the Chief and one more man Danny didn't know. Now what was  _that_  about? And why now of all times?

Danny threw up his hands and returned to his desk. He checked if the forensics analysis from McGarrett's crime scene was ready; he sent a reminder about the ballistic report and skimmed through the notes on a minor theft case he had going but his mind was elsewhere. He briefly considered calling the Archives and decided against it. He would do it later, after he'd talked to Meka. No, not the Chief, he wasn't going to the Chief with this. Paranoia or not, really, the only person he was absolutely certain of in here was Detective Hanamoa.

"I'm going to the crime scene," he decided suddenly. Kaleo glared at him wide-eyed and tried to ask why and if he wanted company but Danny ignored him completely.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to find there. Perhaps some answer to the question if Steve McGarrett was really guilty. At least it was daytime.

He came through the door and looked at the trashed living room with blood stains on the wall. He tried to backtrack his reasoning. Steve McGarrett appearing at the crime scene and more importantly, stealing a property from there was iffy. Nonetheless it didn't flare the detective's suspicions. Back in New Jersey Danny used to trust his instincts.

Meka's rumors about the rift between John and Steve had made him doubt his initial judgment. He'd thought he'd found a probable motive. As for means, yes, Steve had a gun but the ballistic report was still in the woods. Why was it taking so long to get it done?

Why indeed?

Could someone tamper with it?

Since Danny had no way of analyzing the means at this moment he decided he would take a closer look at the motive. A father hates his son for not dying while the beloved wife died. As horrid as it sounded, such resentment was not impossible. This could skew the boy's psyche, especially if he had been, no matter how severely or slightly, injured too.

So, had John McGarrett hated his son? Meka's rumors were exactly that - rumors. Chin Ho Kelly's account didn't suggest any hatred.

The detective looked around the room. The reason he hadn't initially thought of John McGarrett as a family man was because there was not a single item in the main area of the house that would suggest he had a wife or kids. He had his passion - that was ships. There was a big model of a frigate, there were photographs of  _USS Arizona_ , of Pearl Harbor in the forties, before the bombing. Of a group of sailors. Danny came closer to the picture, pushed by intuition. He read the names and sure enough, he found 'Stephen McGarrett' there. The sailors from  _Arizona_ , those who went down with her. This Stephen McGarrett must have been John's father, Steve's grandfather the youngest of the clan was named after.

On the bureau, covered with streaks of dried blood, stood a photograph of a group of police officers, above it hung the diploma for John McGarrett for excellence in service he'd probably received on the day of his retirement. The man took pride in his job, in his heritage and that was what he was displaying for the visitors.

In the office at the back of the living room Danny found more framed photographs of colleagues from the Force and a few of the Navy team from Vietnam. That's right, he remembered from the victim's dossier. John McGarrett had gone into his father's footsteps and joined the Navy. He had been a Lieutenant upon transferring to Reserves.

His resentment toward Steve could have stemmed not so much from the boy not dying instead of his mother but from him coming out of the accident damaged. Danny swallowed bile when he thought about his greatest treasure, his beloved daughter, his Grace. He could never hate her. He had hopes for her alright, like any parent. He dreamt that she would become a dancer, or a singer, or a brilliant mathematician but if she hurt herself and she couldn't perform according to his ambitions, he would do everything in his power to make sure she was happy. That would ... That  _was_  his only purpose.

Profound dislike he suddenly felt for John McGarrett and compassion for Steve surprised him. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to understand and feel sorry for the killer!  _If_  Steve McGarrett was the killer, he reminded himself. God, he hoped he was not. Right now he wanted to find something - anything! - that would suggest that Steve was innocent, that he was right with all the paranoia, that all he wanted was to find out who'd killed his old man. That they had not been so much at odds with each other.

Danny opened a desk drawer, then another and another. There were some documents, bills, old prescriptions, more police photographs. Shells, seaweed and sand in one of them. And in the bottom drawer a couple of old photograph albums. Danny skimmed through them and saw a pretty woman with a baby, a toddler, then two laughing kids growing older and older as he flipped through the pages. A boy and a girl, happy, loving and loved. John was in some of those pictures as well but it was mostly the children, occasionally with Mom.

The pictures in the second album portrayed the kids aging much faster as pictures weren't taken so often anymore. Children turned into teenagers and Danny stopped, fascinated by a photograph of a lean, muscular boy with certainly Steve McGarrett's, only much younger face. The boy was standing next to a paper target with a nice bull's eye even Danny could envy, holding a rifle and smiling broadly, proudly. Short sleeves of his t-shirt revealed nicely sculpted arms of an athlete. This boy was a winner.

In his mind's eye Danny Williams saw the man this boy should have become and it was not the thin, tired-looking, slightly crooked person he'd spoken to this morning. There was still the same fire in his eyes but for the first time the detective realized how much this man lost. He still had no idea about the extent of his injuries but even if they had been minor, even if it had been merely a broken hand - this vision of what he  _could have_  achieved and what had been taken away from him was enough to understand the depth of despair he might have fallen into.

This was not the answer Danny needed.

He flipped the next few pages and after three or four more, there were no other pictures of Steve in there. The blonde girl grew older but she stopped smiling and all the pictures were official, from ceremonies or with relatives, posed and stiff. She graduated high school, then college. The next picture was a total surprise - it was John McGarrett's daughter in a Navy uniform. Danny was so startled he took the picture out and turned it around as if he thought there was someone else on the flip side. There was a note instead.

 _Greetings from Annapolis, Dad!_    
 _Your little girl,_    
 _Mary_

Danny put it back and wondered what it meant, how it all fitted into the puzzle that was the McGarrett family. No pictures of Steve after the accident, Mary dedicating the photograph to her father and not her brother. None of it bode well to his theory that Steve didn't have a reason for revenge and took things a little too far.

His head hurt. He wanted to throw the damn album across the room and trash everything in vicinity. They had no right to be so cruel to a boy who lost his mother  _and_  his future! If, for some reason - damn, maybe Steve was driving that day, who knew - even if it really  _was_  his fault, he had paid enough.

Damn.

Danny took a few deep breaths to control his anger and put the album away where it belonged. He still would not leave the house. He wandered through the office some more, glared at the blood stains. Rummaged through the kitchen, glanced into the garage and peeked into the bedroom upstairs. Another photograph caught his eye. A family portrait stood on the nightstand. Mary, he now knew the sister's name, could be about eight, about Grace's age now. Steve was maybe twelve. Mom and Dad had arms thrown around each other, their heads were touching. A caldera in the background must have been some Hawaiian volcano.

A sudden thought occurred to the detective. John McGarrett had pictures related to his job on a public display but private family albums were hidden in the drawer. Maybe...

Danny yanked the nightstand drawer and found only sleeping pills and dried leaves in it. He looked around and when his gaze fell on the closet taking up the side wall of the room. He opened it and started rummaging through the clothes, the drawers, the folded bedclothes. When he didn't find anything out of place he felt more disappointed than he thought he would. But then, what was he really expecting? He wanted to laugh at himself.

In a final impulse of stupidity he squatted on his knees and looked under the bed.

There was an old shoe box tucked deep in the corner.

Danny gasped with surprise and crawled under the bed. He grabbed the box and crawled back, hitting his head in a hurry. He massaged the aching spot with one hand, the other one fumbling with the lid. All he found were old newspaper pages, crumpled, torn. He started unfolding them, wondering what articles there were, but then he saw an envelope underneath. Hidden. The newspapers were irrelevant. He took the envelope out with trembling hands and his heart in his throat.

This was it, he knew it. This was his answer.

When he opened it he caught a glimpse of a photograph of lots and lots of medical equipment one may only see at the hospital and whiteness of the sheets. What caught his attention, though, was a folded piece of paper sticking out in front.

Perhaps he shouldn't have taken it out, he shouldn't have unfolded it and most importantly he shouldn't have read it, but Danny did, his breathing becoming more and more strained.

 _Steve,_  the letter begun,

_If you ever find those pictures, please don't be angry that I kept them. I know you wanted me to burn them; you didn't want any reminder of how it was, but I couldn't. You know why I took them. I needed one last thing that would remind me of you in case you didn't survive. Even if you think they are ugly, at the time I thought they were beautiful because there was you in them._

Danny felt tears prickle at his eyes and he thought he should put the letter away; it was too intimate, he had no right! But he couldn't stop. This could be what he was looking for, this could be his 'proof'.

_I kept them all those years to remind myself what I had, what I needed to protect at all cost. You. Always my brave, strong son. Do you realize how far you've come? Do you realize you are the strongest person I know? I want you to realize that, I want you to believe--_

Danny folded the letter and closed the envelope without taking out any of the pictures. He didn't want to know, not this way. He knew enough and it was that John McGarrett loved his son. He was sure Steve loved his old man right back and he knew now what he had to do. Find the real killer and help the boy from the picture at least get one thing right in his life.


	8. All the Clues

Qiang Yu was a very good boss. For starters he loved old cars and that was the reason he and Steve had met nearly ten years ago. Steve'd been trying to fix that old Mercury Marquis his Dad had gotten for them to work on together. For some reason... well, Steve knew exactly what reason it was - Dad hadn't believed Steve would be up to it - they'd been putting it off. Until one day Steve had decided that he would make the car run again himself and prove to his father that he  _could_.

In the end, he didn't fix it alone but with Qiang Yu's help. Still, Qiang Yu had appreciated Steve's knowledge of the engines and his creativity - especially in improvising when he couldn't quite reach something, or grab it, or when he simply lacked strength or precision. In the end, to Steve's utter surprise, he'd offered him a job at his shop. If it had been out of pity, Steve'd chosen to pretend he hadn't noticed. Twenty-three-years-old, adult by all means, eight years after the accident - he'd needed a job, boy had he needed it! He hadn't even needed to be paid, only to be allowed to do something other than rehabilitation and staring out at the ocean.

Another very good thing about Qiang Yu was that he didn't ask. People always asked and if they didn't - they  _looked_  with question in their eyes. Steve would usually say he had broken the hand that made them so curious and most of the times that would be enough. If it wasn't he'd add that there was some nerve damage involved and -honestly?- that was not far from truth. It was also enough of an explanation, because that made the inquisitors nod sadly and tell him they were  _so sorry_.

Qiang Yu was different. He had asked, "Can you use a screwdriver? Can you use a wrench? What about fixing car electronics?" Steve could do most of those things, either left-handed, or using adjusted tools. The only thing he would leave to those who had two able hands was precise manipulation. As long as the boss was fine with it - it didn't matter.

After a few years of working together Steve had learned to trust Qiang Yu enough to tell him the truth about the accident, including the death of his mother, how long it had taken him to get back on his feet, and even why he was so good at Mandarin. Qiang Yu had responded that it humbled him to be trusted and that he'd been proud to be called Steve's friend. He was a friend indeed. He never gave Steve any hard time for missed days, because he understood that was never due to negligence or laziness. He'd say, "You need a day off, you take a day off. You come back when you feel well again."

Steve had taken a day off yesterday. And this morning he came in late, having overslept after a fair dose of a sedative. And, as usual, there were no questions; Qiang Yu pointed him toward the Buick, saying it needed a change of tires. Only when Steve hesitated and bit his lips, did his boss ask, "Something wrong?"

"My father died," Steve blurted. "He was shot in the head the day before, after he..." he couldn't finish. Qiang Yu remembered though.

"He called you then, asked you to come." Horror in his face and voice made Steve cringe and all he could do was nod. Qiang Yu laid a hand on his arm. "If you need to... You are welcome to stay but if there is something else you'd rather... This place isn't going anywhere, you know that, Steve. Take your time if you need to."

Steve shook his head. "Right now I need to focus on something. I need to work, I think." He needed things to remain normal, somehow. No, truth be told he needed Detective Williams to check the Archives already and get back to him! However sitting at home, waiting for the phone call was impossible. He'd rather busy himself with whatever he could, before he would do something stupid, like breaking into the Archives himself. Unscrewing a flat tire was as good as anything else. At least it'd keep him occupied.

After changing the tire Steve checked oil in a Mercedes and he was just fiddling with a rusted clutch plate of an old Chevvy when Detective Williams strolled into the garage. Steve froze for a heartbeat, then left the Chevvy, wiped the grease off his hands and walked toward the detective. Jin, one of the other mechanics was already asking him if he needed help, but Williams ignored the Chinese altogether and addressed Steve.

"Something, uh, knocks in my car. Could someone take a look at it?"

Seriously? Steve gave him an incredulous stare. He figured Williams didn't want to talk about his Dad's case in the open and he had to admit he was grateful for it but the 'cover' he chose was kind of ridiculous. Nonetheless he asked about the car and the detective pointed outside. Once in the yard he waved his hand toward a lean and mean silver Camaro.

Ridiculous or not, Steve found that he liked this idea anyway.

"Gimme your keys." He extended his hand with a wide grin.

"What?"

"You want me to hear how this engine works. I have to take it for a ride. You may come with me, if you want," he winked. Wasn't that what the detective had planned? When Williams somewhat reluctantly put the keys in his palm, Steve nodded at Jin to let the boss know he was taking a client out and got into the car. He loved old cars, but he loved fast cars just as well. His Dad's case pushed to the far corners of his mind, as if he suddenly was not able to deal with it, Steve thought that he was at least going to have a good time. When the engine roared to life he had to smile to himself. She was a beast, this girl.

"You couldn't have called?" he asked the detective, throwing the reverse.

"I figured someone might, you know, tap into the conversation or something," Willaims grumbled, displeased, then his voice pitched higher, "Be careful with it, alright?" That in response to Steve flooring the gas-pedal and spinning the car one-handed, narrowly missing the garage door. The good girl had a kick. "Jesus, do you want to give me a heart attack?"

"Easy, I know what I'm doing." The dust was falling in their wake and Steve threw the gear and drove onto the street at a reasonable speed. For now. "So," he started, "You're not afraid the car is bugged or anything?"

Williams turned to him, offended and-- Steve could almost always tell the moment the people noticed his handicap, or at least when they realized what they were seeing. Earlier, when he'd been meeting the detective it was easy enough to keep his right hand under the table, or fold his arms; he didn't need to hold anything in his palm, to use his fingers. Now he was changing gears and keeping the wheel straight. The change in the detective's face was fleeting - if Steve wasn't looking at him he would have probably missed it - but those blue eyes lingered on the fist a split second too long, brow furrowed and offense turned into confusion. Then Williams's eyes darted to Steve's, then out the window - embarrassed - and Steve knew - there were going to be questions.

"I know my car inside out," Danny Williams muttered but his earlier confidence was heavily hinted with reflective undertones now. "And I ran a detector on it. What? Paranoia can be contagious!"

"Paranoia, huh?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, stubbornly staring ahead, out the window.

Steve could see the gears in his head turning. Say it, not say it? Ask or not ask? Pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary? When it obviously was. Steve hated when people were nosy but truth be told he hated their pretense of normalcy even more; it felt like they were doing him a favor he did not need.

He pressed the gas and switched to a higher gear.

"Whoa!" The detective grabbed the handle overhead and held onto his seat. "We're not in a hurry or anything!" he yelled, then squeaked, "You always drive one-handed? That's dangerous, you know."

Steve almost burst laughing.

"Not like I have much choice." He flaunted curled fingers of his right hand. He couldn't straighten them, or grab the wheel, save for with his thumb and index finger but that only if he focused on the task. "Don't worry, I had a lot of practice," he grinned at the man next to him, daring him to keep asking,  _please, go ahead!_ , and Danny's eyes narrowed.

"What happened with it anyway?" A-ha! So there it was.

"Partial paralysis," Steve answered simply. "Or rather spasticity."

"Yeah? How'd it happened?"

It occurred to Steve that the guy should actually know. He was a  _detective_  for God's sake, it was his job to  _know_.

"Don't tell me you didn't ask around about me," he spat, pressing harder on the gas and weaving deftly between slower cars as they entered the highway. "What does it say on that badge of yours again?"

"You could slow down."

"Are you afraid?" Steve sped up another notch.

"I asked about you." Williams checked his belt as if it would do him any good if they crashed. "The reports were highly conflicting though; thought it best to ask at the source."

Fair enough. "Car accident." Williams nodded. Alright, so that one he knew. "Traumatic brain injury." That one was a shocker though.

Steve could hear him suck in a breath and couldn't squash a certain satisfaction he felt.

It was soon surpassed by discomfort caused by Williams's quiet, "That's the rumor I didn't quite believe." Shit! What the hell had gotten into him to expose himself to this stranger? Before Williams would shake off the surprise and pursue his interrogation, Steve changed the subject.

"What was it you wanted to meet about?" he asked. Really, why did he let it be about him and his injury for this long was beyond him. The two of them had some strictly business stuff to attend to and focusing on irrelevant things wasn't going to get them any closer to solving the mystery of his father's death and his investigation. He slowed down to a reasonable speed too.

Williams was silent for a moment, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Then he sighed and disclosed,

"It's about that case-file number you gave me."

Good. That was good.

"What did you find?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Steve turned to him, startled. What the hell? "You want to meet, go all sneaky with the car to tell me that you found  _nothing_?"

"Precisely." Williams smirked and Steve wanted to punch him  _so much_. "Now listen, else you won't know why 'nothing' is so important it made me change my mind about you and my attitude and got me all paranoid. See, I was kind of on the fence, because let's be honest, this whole secret investigation and being killed for it," he waved his hand. "It reeks of conspiracy theory a mile away. I wanted to go to the Chief with it, I really did. Alas, I didn't. Went to the Archives first and what do I find there? I tried to be, you know, inconspicuous as may be, but I wound up in the 'MI' section, dug through the numbers and there, between 23749 and 23751 - there's nothing! Not a file, not a note. Nothing. Somebody took it out and left no trace."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. Now tell me, could it be your father?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, why would he?"

"Exactly. He was working the case. Wouldn't he want to walk triumphantly into the precinct if he found the guilty party, take that file and have the case closed? That was my train of thought anyway. However I may be wrong. So I went to dear Mrs. Fran, our sweet archivist - I had no choice, had to include her, but didn't tell her, you know, why I was looking for it - and I asked her to show me the logs." Williams was so animated Steve found himself spellbound. The detective was waving his hands as if his whole body was talking, words falling from his mouth like from a machine-gun. There was something energizing in his bright blue eyes.

"And here's where it gets more curious!" He put up his finger and his eyes sparkled. "The section it's in is 'homicides', so at least we know the qualification of the crime and there's a name scribbled at the side, like a signature but it's illegible. Some Japanese name and Mrs Fran remembers some guy named Hoshimuri working at the precinct a few years back, but I didn't find anyone like that. Your father was the one who entered the case into the archives as there's his badge number - I verified it - next to the case number but that's it. No name of the victim or victims, no tag words, anything that might help with identification. Oh, a date. But only based on the dates of the cases before and after, they're April 18th and April 21st 1992, respectively." Steve felt like he'd been sucker-punched at the mention of those dates. Williams continued. "I think we need to ask your friend, Chin Ho Kelly, if any of those dates means anything to him. If anyone would know, that should be your old man's ex-partner, right? McGarrett? McGarrett, are you listening to me?"

One of those dates? One of those dates meant ... Steve needed to stop. His hands were shaking and he felt like all the air had been sucked out of his chest. It was not possible, it was not related, it couldn't be, but the date ... mentioned in these circumstances ... It was probably a different day too, they had a four-day window...

This might be the most probable reason it had gotten his father so riled up though...

Steve had no idea how he managed to park the car on the side of the highway. He heard Williams's voice, a constant buzz in his ears, but he couldn't focus on words.

It made sense.

"What made sense? What the hell are you talking about?"

He'd never shown him.

"What? McGarrett! Who never showed you what?" Williams was shaking him.

Was he talking out loud?

"The accident report," Steve's mouth moved, his throat constricted, producing sound. "I asked him. Many times. But he'd always said there was no need to look at it, that it would get me nothing and eventually I stopped."

"What? What accident? This was no accident, it was homicide. What are you talking about?"

"Exactly. It was no accident, that's why he'd never shown me the report. Because then I would know it was ... I don't even know what it was? A car bomb? Could it be a car bomb?"

Williams glared at him, silent this time, as realization seemed to dawn on him.

"What?" he mouthed now, voiceless. Cleared his throat. "You mean ...  _your_  accident?" he whispered.

"April 19th, 1992. The date fits."

The detective let go of Steve's arms and wiped his face, stunned. At the same time, as if the switch was flipped, Steve's brain went into overdrive.

"We have to talk to Chin. Now!"

He drove onto the highway again but this time Detective Williams did not admonish him for speeding.


	9. The Truth Awakened

_He's walking down the Ohua Avenue, toward the parking lot. Okay, so he wasted a moment after the mass with Becky Cho but does Mom always have to be that bitchy? She's not even mad at him but at Mary, the prodigal daughter who didn't come with them after all._

_"Hurry up, Steve!" Mom screams through the open window. She's lovely, her blond hair falling in waves on her arms, green eyes, blue eyeshadow, long lashes. There's love in her eyes, there always is, and laughter. Isn't it strange that Steve sees her laughing at him when in fact she's yelling? And that he loves her so much, even though he's actually annoyed and wants to mouth off to her -- something he never does; Dad would have his ass if he ever did._

_He looks at Mom, takes his time, even as he closes in, step by step, unable to fight against the tide. He sees a small round pearl in her left ear. As she pulls her hair away, he sees wrinkles of worry in the corner of her eye. He could count those wrinkles if he wanted. Her fingernails are painted dim red. There is a mole on her neck, right above the collar of her blouse. The blouse is faint yellow. The car is silver._

_"Hurry up," she yells. "I'm not gonna wait all day!"_

And then Steve wakes up, panting, sweating, terrified. The same dream. He has it every now and again, sometimes a few nights in a row, sometimes years apart. It's more detailed each time but it always ends in the same moment. It's mostly calm, so normal, so every-day-ish but always,  _always_  leaves him filled with dread.

* * *

Danny Williams was an idiot. Or, at least, right now he felt very much so.

Three minutes into their crazy drive down the highway Steve McGarrett started asking questions about his father's murder case. Any new details? Suspects? What about the gun?

Danny had finally gotten the ballistic report this morning and as he ran the weapon through the system he got a hit to an unrelated investigation. A guy named Duran was apparently an arms dealer and the gun that killed John McGarrett came through his ring.

And did Detective Williams even  _think_  about withholding this information from the victim's relative? No, because Steve McGarrett caught him off guard one more time. Then, as soon as he heard the news he changed lanes and went for the nearest highway exit.

"Aren't we going to Pearl this time?" Danny asked and was told that they would, in a moment.

Steve made a stop at somebody's house, reached under the mat for the key and went into it like it was his own. Half a minute later he returned with a duffel bag which he threw into the trunk of the car. Then he took his seat behind the wheel again and sped away with a screech of tires.

"You know, for someone who got injured in a car accident you drive very recklessly," Danny observed. "Like a maniac! You have a death wish or something? Survivor's guilt? There are therapies for that, I can give you a number. Although knowing you, even electroshocks would probably not suffice."

"It was not an accident," McGarrett seethed. "She was standing in a parking lot and I was walking toward the car. The car exploded when she turned the key."

"Oh, so now you're certain. May I ask how you acquired that knowledge?"

"I dreamt about it."

Oh. Danny sincerely didn't know how to respond to that one.

"What do you want to do?" he asked instead. And how did this become his life? How come he was asking this-- this _civilian_  what they were going to do? Maybe because he was hijacked in his own car.

McGarrett bit his lips and shook his head. "I have no idea," he said under his breath. He was so lying. Danny could read people well and he  _knew_  this man had it all outlined, down to the tiniest details. He made an impression of  _exactly_  that kind of control freak. Maybe it was a result of the injury and having little control of some areas of his life. Danny had no idea. It was clear that he'd only scratched the surface of what made McGarrett tick with that revelation of brain trauma. Nonetheless, he was not going to let his compassion cloud his judgment. Or rather -- he would be  _extra vigilant_  because of it. Truth be told, there was still no indication that the man currently driving his car was not, in fact, clinically insane. Danny imagined opening the door and jumping out of the speeding car. It would probably be safer than throwing himself headlong into whatever this maniac had devised.

"That Duran guy," McGarrett started and Danny stifled a groan, because out of all the most moronic and suicidal ideas he could have had, going after an arms dealer was probably number one. With a bullet. Trying to come up with ways to prevent that disaster from happening, Danny almost missed McGarrett's question, "Who's he in with?"

"Who is he in ... What?"

"You said he's an arms dealer. That means he deals weapons. With whom?"

"I didn't get that far, yet! I only got this information this morning, when I was almost on my way  _here_. Well, to  _you_  anyway. But I needed to  _find you_  first, so I stopped at my computer for, like, five seconds and that's when I saw the ballistic report and took a few more minutes to run it through the system but not nearly enough to get this guy's full background! I don't know, maybe I should have! Maybe that was more important than this and I'm doing my job all wrong; pardon me for wanting to tell you what I found, that was so silly of me!"

McGarrett was looking at him and damn it, he was smirking.

"Eyes on the road!"

"Yes, sir!" They drove in silence for all of thirty seconds, then started talking at the same time. Since Danny was actually about to ask why McGarrett wanted to know about Duran's accessories, he gestured for him to talk first. "I was thinking about finding some contacts in the crime world," McGarrett said. "Do you have any?" Danny had plenty of contacts ... back in New Jersey. Before he managed to say anything though, Steve replied to his own question. "Probably not. You're a  _haole_ ; who would trust a  _haole_. There's this one guy I heard about; he's selling shave ice but word is he's an ex-con. I think Chin knows him." Danny gazed at him unsure where this was going. So they were not about to assault Duran in his house, arrest him or anything? Seriously? They were simply going to ask after him? Well, if McGarrett was about to undertake some good ole' traditional investigation, Danny might yet have to revise his initial assessment of the man.

When they arrived at Pearl Harbor, Steve's first steps were directed to the security main office. Danny expected they would find Kelly in there, but McGarrett suddenly stopped and grabbed his arm. They were ten steps away from the shack at the end of the pier.

"You will go in and ask about Chin Ho Kelly," Steve said in a low voice. "Tell them you need to take him for questioning, flash your badge. I will go find him." He turned away, not waiting for Danny to confirm or deny or react in any way.

"Whoa!" Danny reacted. "Would you mind telling me why I should do any of this?"

McGarrett stopped and gave him a disapproving glare that lasted longer than it was necessary.

"Because," he said slowly, "you intend to solve this case, don't you? And you can't do it on your own, that's not how it's done. Tell me, Detective, where's your partner?"

"Where is my partner? What's it to you where my partner is?" He'd seen Meka this morning but they hadn't spoken. Danny hadn't needed to, not anymore. Yesterday he'd had doubts about Steve McGarrett. This morning that had no longer been the case -- although he was probably wrong for entirely different reasons, he thought now. Either way, this morning he hadn't told Meka what he'd learned last night at McGarrett's house, or where he was going and this was the reason Meka was not here right now. How was it McGarrett's business he couldn't fathom.

"He's not  _here_ ," McGarrett pointed out. "And  _we_  are. We want to help you do your job, so take the offer and say thank you."

He left no room for argument and this time Danny only gritted his teeth. He watched Steve walk briskly away and wondered if he saw a slight limp in his gait or if it was only his imagination fueled by the revelation of the injury. Had he even been telling the truth? He probably had, if the way he'd quickly changed the subject was any indication.

What would happen if he said 'no' right now? -- Danny wondered. If he didn't do as he was told. He was the one who should have been giving orders around here, he should have taken control of this investigation but he'd let it slip for a moment, maybe when he'd been questioning Steve back at the precinct, or maybe later, when they'd talked here, at the canteen. Either way, his attention had wavered and McGarrett snatched the reins and was holding onto them with a steely grip, not budging even by an inch.

The detective could turn and walk away but then he'd lose a chance at following the same leads McGarrett could follow. Besides, he would be leaving the maniac at large and who knew what disaster that would lead to. Or he could butt heads. He could fight for leadership of this case. If he wanted to win though, he'd have to do it right. He couldn't afford another slip; it would be all or nothing. So, not right now. But he would keep his eyes open and he would catch McGarrett unawares, just like he'd been caught.

Shaking his head Danny entered the office. He showed his badge and informed the man behind the desk, as nicely as he could, that he was looking for Chin Ho Kelly.

"He's right at the back, Detective. I'll go get him." The native-looking young man was clearly intimidated and Danny felt a pang of guilt. This was not how he wanted to play this. The Hawaiian returned a few seconds later with Kelly and another bulky Korean.

"What has he done?" the big guy grumbled.

"Nothing." Danny swallowed through the tightness of his throat at the hostility and uncertainty on Chin Ho Kelly's face. Again, not what he was aiming for. He didn't intend to cause Chin any trouble, didn't want anyone to suspect him of anything. Hell, he didn't want to be here at all. "It's about the investigation we're..." And he certainly didn't want to cause him grief, he thought when the Korean's mouth quirked as if he got stabbed. Danny addressed his boss. "Mr Kelly knew the victim and we hope ... I believe that his testimony may shed a new light on the case." Damn McGarrett. He made him do it. He deserved that Danny tear him a new one. How about making it a little harder for him now? "We need to talk at the precinct ..." Danny hesitated, "but you may refuse, of course." If Kelly got the incentive, McGarrett would have to come and get him himself. Ha! How about that?

Kelly didn't catch on. "No!" he said abruptly. "I'll go."

With permission from the big guy, Kelly left the office and followed a disappointed Danny. They walked for a few paces until Chin's curiosity took the better of him

"Can you tell me what this is about?"

"Well, frankly?" Danny shrugged. "No, because I don't really know. See, it was actually a ruse." He stopped and faced the Korean, wanting to see his reaction to what he was about to say. "It was conjured up by your friend, Steve McGarrett." Kelly wasn't surprised. "Yeah. Actually," it occurred to Danny that this was a good moment to get some additional info on his ... how should he call him? Ally? Partner? Nemesis? "I need to ask you something about that accident of his. Did he hit his head?

The expression on Chin's face was worth a thousand words. Startled, surprised, taken aback, indignant, offended. Finally angry. And all that in a slight furrow of his brow and a minutely harder set of his jaw.

"You know, I don't..." he hesitated. "How is it relevant?"

"No, listen." Danny put up his hands. He was being serious this time. This question was actually important. "I need to ask you this and I need to know before he gets back here -- Is he mentally competent?" After all, that doubt had been raised before; Chief Mahaka had claimed that Steve McGarrett couldn't be interrogated because he'd been declared mentally incompetent after a head injury. What was true and what was a rumor?

Kelly didn't respond instantly. He eyed the detective for a split second, "Yes," he said and then, as if implications of the question only just registered with him he repeated louder, defensive, "Yes, he's fully mentally competent."

"You hesitated."

"I did not!" Kelly ran his hand through his hair and Danny's attention perked up because this was not just about defending his friend. There was more to it and he needed to know. "Okay, I did. How should I say it?" Kelly sighed. He looked around and Danny couldn't tell if he was hoping McGarrett would appear out of nowhere, or that he would give them a moment more. Then the Korean looked deep into Danny's eyes. "He has his moments. It's  _not_  incompetence, alright? It's--" his revelation was interrupted by the phone going off. Damn McGarrett chose the perfect moment to ask where he was. Chin explained he was on his way to the car, with the detective, and shut his phone and his mouth all the same.

"Can you tell me more about those ... ' _moments_ '?" Danny prodded with impatience. It was like pulling teeth and as soon as Steve found them, there would be no way of learning anything anymore. "What causes them?"

"Stress, strong emotions, mostly anger." Kelly shrugged. "Or they come completely at random."

"So, you mean he could be having one of those moments now? Saying this situation is stressful for him would be an understatement of the year."

Chin chuckled but there was no mirth in the sound. "Actually," he said, his voice thoughtful. "I've been watching him the last few days, waiting for him to crack and I see none of this. No, whatever he's up to now, he's not having 'his moment'." Chin raised his hands in a gesture indicating quotation marks. In his eyes, for the first time Danny saw defiance as he said, "Let me tell you something about Steve McGarrett: I've known the guy for nearly twenty years -- of course before the accident I mostly knew him through his father's tales and, well, I saw him play football."

"Heard he was a quarterback in his junior year."

"Sophomore."

"Sophomore?" Danny couldn't hold back esteem. So even the rumors weren't as good as the real thing?

"Yeah," Kelly smirked, "he was that good. After the accident..." he hesitated and his face took on that thoughtful expression again. "I don't know how it happened but I was helping Jack a lot and Mary, Jack’s daughter, and I don't know. Steve is like a little brother to me now. I can't tell you exactly what happened to him because that's his to tell, if he chooses to. I know how he feels about the whole world knowing. I know he-- In a way he pretends that everything is alright, that he's well. I don't have to agree with this but at the same time I don't want to take that away from him, don't want to crush his dream. With everything he's been through - he's actually making this dream come true, you know? It motivates him, it ... keeps him alive." There was some urgency in Chin's voice, even as it was getting softer, more like a whisper. He wanted Danny to work with him on this, to keep his side, but suddenly it was him who grew short of time to explain everything.

"Chin!" Danny heard Steve McGarrett's voice behind his back. He nodded at Kelly, letting him know that he understood. He might not go through with everything Kelly suggested -- after all he was not tainted with twenty years of knowing the man -- but what he learned went a long way toward understanding what drove the guy who decided to take over his life.

"We need to find Kamekona," McGarrett decided for all of them now.

"What do you need from Kamekona?" Chin asked once they were all packed in the Camaro, with him squeezed into the back seat.

"He's an informant," McGarrett replied, "isn't he? He knows people. Danny caught a whiff of some guy named Duran, who deals weapons. I don't think he's the one who killed my father but among those who buy stuff from him, there's gotta be some name that will be connected with this. Danny, what can you tell Chin about Duran?"

The question was inconspicuous and completely valid under the circumstances, so Danny replied. He told them as much as he knew, which wasn't a lot, but among the information was Duran's place of residence. McGarrett didn't even need to specifically ask for it. The moment he heard it, he changed lanes and turned the car in the opposite direction at the nearest exit.

"Steve, Kamekona's is that way." Chin pointed behind his back.

"Change of plans."

Danny groaned out loud and thought about jumping out of the speeding vehicle once again.


	10. Plans, and their Alterations

"Are you out of your mind? What the hell is this? What is  _the matter_  with you?" Danny Williams raised his voice when Steve revealed the contents of his duffel bag.

Steve chose to ignore him. "You've got two vests in your trunk. Good. Put one on," he commanded, pulled another one from his bag and handed it to Chin who, bless him, started gearing up. Steve reached for the one in the trunk.

"I'm not putting anything on!" Williams yelled, arms flailing. "What is wrong with you? What? Do you think you'll barge in and what?"

"We won't barge in, okay?" Steve paused and looked straight at Danny. Why the hell was this guy so confrontational? "We're going to take him in for some questioning."

"With guns? And vests?"

"He's a dangerous perp."

"Exactly!" the detective exclaimed triumphantly and started counting on his fingers, "He's dangerous. He deals guns; he collaborates with god-knows-who. This is not some game!" Chin, ignoring his tirade, took a handgun from the trunk. Williams snatched it from him. "You're not in your backyard with your plastic pistols! This is a job for the police!"

"You are the police," Steve seethed. They had a suspect related to the murder case, damn it, and HPD was doing nothing about it. 'Five-0' was a registered PI agency, so if they could - and Steve  _knew_  that they could - provide some help to the law enforcement, it was their obligation to do so. "If you're worried about this equipment," Steve pointed to the vests, two guns, a taser and a few other items he took from Chin's house 'in case'. "Everything here is legal; we have permission and training-"

"You learned how to shoot at a firing range! That's no training!" Williams assumed but he was only partially right. "You are civilians!"

"Chin Ho used to be HPD not more than three years ago! He has all the training he needs!"

"I don't care. He's not police. It's against... _everything_! Procedure, common sense, everything! Get back into the car!"

For a moment there Steve thought he lost. Williams was dead set on stopping him this time and Steve's creativity ran out. He used all possible arguments and none got through to the detective. The whole complex, refined plan was about to go south and then... Providence proved to be on his side.

The sound of doors slamming in a dwelling sixty feet from them had their heads turning. A young woman was coming out of the house they knew belonged to Duran. Her movements were rapid; she was muttering something under her breath and then she suddenly stopped. She saw them. She stood frozen for three seconds then spun on her heel and ran back up the stairs and into the house.

"Shit!" Williams cursed. "Now you've spooked him!" Contrary to his earlier disapproval, he had his vest on in record time and was already checking his gun.

Chin and Steve were ready to go way earlier - Steve's heart now pumping adrenaline through his body, making him all keyed up. He turned to Danny with a victorious grin. Oh, how he would boast later. Now they had a job to do.

Except that Williams had another idea.

" _You_ ," he spoke in a low but hypnotizing voice and placed a hand on Steve's chest, "are not going anywhere."

"It's my investigation!"

"You don't have the training for this."

"Damn it! You don't know first thing about my training!"

"And you are disabled!"

Steve blanked out. He stood in front of the detective, mouth gaping like he forgot how to breathe.

What?

"If I as much as see you anywhere near us," Williams continued. "I'll arrest your ass before Duran, for obstruction of police investigation. Am I making myself clear?"

Steve couldn't answer. In the corner of his eye he saw a wild-looking guy peeking through the door the girl had gone through a few seconds ago. Having cast one glance, the thug vanished inside the house.

"C'mon!" Chin urged.

"Am I making myself clear?" Williams repeated.

"Yes!" Steve spat. He had no choice. "Just go get him!"

"After me!" Williams shouted and he was on the stairs in a heartbeat, Chin Ho at his heels with a gun in hand.

Steve was left behind, standing by the car, not quite comprehending what had just happened.

* * *

Things turned out exactly the way Danny predicted. The perp had a gun and he was not afraid to use it. He was, however, shooting blindly, on the run, so the bullets did more damage to the walls, than they did to people. Then Duran jumped out of the window in the back of the house and Danny, without a second thought, jumped after him. Following a chase through the narrow alleys of the neighborhood they stopped face to face, only ... the scumbag held a weapon to a woman's head.

"Drop your gun or I'll shoot her!" he yelled. "Don't think I won't do it!"

Danny hesitated only for a moment but this moment seemed to stretch to infinity. The situation was all kinds of wrong. He shouldn't have been here,  _they_  shouldn't have been here. Where was Chin Ho Kelly? He had no idea how the man worked, what he could expect of his surprise partner. If it was Meka - even though he'd known the man only for a few months - he would know where he would be and that he could count on back-up. Here? No such certainty.

His life flashed before his eyes. Grace's smiling face. All the things he hadn't yet told her, taught her. He didn't want to miss out on that, didn't want her to lose her father because of some moron's inability to see the consequences of his actions.

Shit!

The fault was his too; Danny had to admit that in the split second it took him to calculate his options.  _He_  was the officer of the law here and  _he_  had let McGarrett manipulate him. Granted, the man was a master at manipulation, quick thinking, and with planning abilities worthy of some general's envy. Danny had had no chance to see this coming and even though, once he’d realized what’d been going on, he could have stuck to his stance that they were  _fuckin' leaving_ \-- he also wanted to get Duran. It was obvious that once the criminal realized police were on his tail, he would have vanished.

Hence, Danny found himself in this impossible situation, with an unpredictable felon threatening an innocent woman's life, if Danny didn't drop his gun.

This was a no-brainer, really. The detective lowered his weapon, praying to every deity possible that his partner was in place to have his back.

Duran let go of the terrified woman.

His gun swung to aim at Danny.

There was one shot.

Or it seemed so.

Danny felt the bullet graze his arm at the same time the perp fell backwards from the impact of a slug - Danny saw clearly - implanted in his forehead. Dead center.

Heaving a sigh of relief Danny muttered, "Thank you, Chin Ho Kelly," turned around and saw ... Steve McGarrett ... lowering his pistol, the expression on his face a mixture of terror and euphoria.

* * *

Danny glared at McGarrett then turned back, disbelieving, to see Duran sprawled on the ground. He was dead. He was shot dead. By none other than Steve McGarrett, the man Danny clearly ordered to stay out of it.

Perhaps he shouldn't have felt angry. Perhaps gratefulness was more apt, but with all the adrenaline flooding his veins after a close call like this, Danny couldn't restrain himself. He strode toward McGarrett ready to chew him out. Duran was their only lead and now he was dead. He did not suspect McGarrett of killing his father anymore - truth be told he never actually  _did_ ; he had doubts, that was all - but the way he played this situation from the very beginning, smelled iffy.

"How am I supposed to trust you, huh?" he attacked, aiming his accusing finger at the taller man's chest.

McGarrett's eyebrows jumped up.

"You'd rather I did as you said, and stayed put? You'd be dead now!"

"Not what I'm talking about!" Danny exclaimed.

"Then what are you talking about?"

He should have held his tongue. In hindsight, Danny could see that the only reason he spoke was residual fight-or-flight response.

"What am I talking about?" he screamed. "I'll tell you what I'm talking about. The guy is dead. The only witness who could shed any light on your father's murder was shot! By you! Now tell me ... how is it not suspicious?"

When Danny had told Steve to stay behind because he was disabled, a thought had crossed his mind that he should have felt bad about it. Like if he kicked a puppy. He hadn't felt that though. Plain and simple, he'd felt like this needed to be said and he did not regret a single word. Right now, as realization dawned on McGarrett and his face fell, his eyes hardened and he opened his mouth to reply but closed them without making a sound. Danny felt worse than if he beat him to a bloody pulp, having tied his good hand behind his back first.

"I don't suspect you, McGarrett," he started in a low voice and Steve shook his head. "Damn it! Listen to me. If I thought you were guilty I would have arrested you back there in the garage. But I put down my gun the moment you proved you were his son." It wouldn't be the first time Danny's initial approach to the case proved to be the right one. "I went to the Archives for you. I brought you the information, which, Jesus Christ, do you see what you did with that?" Danny ran his hand through his hair. Really, this mess...

"Hey, Guys!" Chin Ho Kelly called them, and damn it, Danny didn't need a distraction. He trotted closer. "There's a girl in there. She's Chinese and I don't think she speaks English." The way he looked at McGarrett must have meant something, because, without a word, Steve turned around and walked toward the dwelling.

Only then Danny noticed the crowd gathering around them. Police had most certainly been alerted and they'd be here soon.

"We need to secure the scene," he muttered to Kelly. He'd rather do something else, like follow McGarrett, because that conversation got interrupted at a wrong moment, but duty came first. "You remember how it's done?"

"Sure," the ex-policeman smiled reassuringly then furrowed his brow. "You're bleeding." He was glaring at Danny's arm.

Duran's bullet grazed him, Danny remembered.

"Huh? At least that will make justifying McGarrett killing Duran in defense of others that much easier," Danny sighed. Kelly looked closer at the scratch and deemed it not life-threatening.

"Paramedics are on their way too, they'll take care of it." He clapped Danny's back. "After you, Detective."

Together they managed the crowd and took care of the still sobbing woman whom Duran had held hostage. When the paramedics finally arrived a few minutes later Chin handed the woman over to them, while Danny explained what happened to a couple of officers who arrived. Then he left it to them to take care of the next steps and he found himself next to Chin, leaning side-by-side against the Camaro. McGarrett walked out of the dwelling with a thin, terrified girl and steered her toward the ambulance. Danny pushed away from the car, but Chin held him by the elbow.

"The less people around her the better," he said apologetically. "She's been through enough."

Danny nodded and restricted himself to watching from afar. Steve explained what happened to the medics, then listened to them and spoke to the girl. He was obviously translating and Danny shook his head. He was impressed by McGarrett, he couldn't deny it.

"So he speaks Chinese, huh?" he muttered. Seriously, was there anything this guy couldn't do? No wonder people were inclined to doubt his brain injury.

"Yes," Kelly replied. "Mandarin fluently and some Cantonese."

"Would have thought that with brain damage he'd rather have problems with languages."

Chin did not comment on this. After a few moments of silence he chuckled.

"No one's ever told him that, you know?" That? Danny looked at him questioningly. "That he shouldn't do something because he's disabled."

"Seriously?"

"I thought he would rip your head off, but he actually obeyed. Must admit I was surprised."

"Obeyed? You call that obeying? He ran after us the moment we were out of sight! And he shot Duran!" And really, how were they going to get the case solved now? That Kamekona guy? Was it just a fodder to divert Danny's attention, or could the informant really give them something useful? Danny kept glaring at McGarrett, wishing he could get inside the man's head. It had to be a scary place but nonetheless fascinating. "By the way," he said as he remembered McGarrett's face right after he shot Duran and what he felt was odd about his posture. "I wanted to ask you - was he left handed or right handed before the accident?"

Kelly shook his head. "He's right handed."

"All the more impressive." McGarrett held the gun in his left hand. "He's got a good aim."

"Oh, yeah."

"I had to say this though, you know."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't have."

"It was dangerous!"

"I know, Detective." Kelly turned to him and placed a hand on his arm. There was warmth in his eyes, silent understanding, like he wanted to tell Danny that he didn't need to explain himself. Danny nodded and sighed. "Still," Kelly started again, taking his hand down and staring ahead. "He would have held his own with us; he's capable of more than your average Joe. He's had training like you wouldn't believe, brah. His dad was not into playing baseball in the backyard with his kid. No, Jack McGarrett was a Navy vet, survived the front line in Vietnam. He was a nut case about physical fitness and such things. His father - Steve's grandfather - was Navy too, went down with the  _Arizona_ , here in Pearl Harbor, before Jack was born." Danny nodded. He'd figured that out.

"Steve would have been Navy too, right?"

"He didn't want to at the time. Wanted to stay in Hawaii, be a surfer. But he was only fifteen, going on sixteen. A lot might have changed in three years." Kelly paused briefly then shook his head. "You know, the reason he was a quarterback as a sophomore was not some lame talent thing. This kid had a crash course at wilderness survival when he was ten. His father had taken take him to the firing range since he was twelve. They used to have those yearly trips to Ka'ala where they would race each other to see who'd reach the summit first. It's three thousand feet elevation from the base to the peak. That, Danny, that is the reason he's walking now, and not in a wheelchair. If he sometimes thinks he's invincible ... Well, can you blame him?"

"Makes you wonder who he'd be if this accident didn't happen?" For Danny it was a solely theoretical question, but the flicker of anguish on Chin Ho's face told him that for them it was still, despite all those years, an open wound. "I bet he'd be a ninja," he tried to deflect the hurt with a joke and got Chin's chuckle in return. "I'm sorry." Now Danny laid a hand on Chin's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "And thanks for sharing all this with me."

"I think I may have needed it more than you did," Kelly admitted quietly.

* * *

As soon as he handed the Chinese girl over to the policemen, Steve looked around, searching for Chin ... yes, and Williams. They stood side-by-side next to the Camaro and talked like old friends. He didn't feel like facing the detective and his accusations again but he needed to talk to Chin, so he went toward them.

"We should go see Kamekona," he stated when he was in front of them.

Chin gave him the once-over and shook his head. "Not right now. Possibly not today at all."

Steve didn't argue. The fight left him and if anything about the way he felt showed on the outside, he must have looked like Hell. His hand prickled. Without a word he handed the car keys to Williams and scrambled into the back seat. Chin gave the detective his home address and kept turning in his seat and staring at Steve scratching his fist over and over throughout the whole drive home. He hadn't said anything and Steve didn't explain himself either. He tried to focus on the steady hum of the engine, on evening out his breathing, the imagery of blue waves that was always so soothing but seemed beyond his reach right now, his thoughts scattered on all the irrelevant details and objects. He really didn't need so much distraction right now. He didn't need Chin's fussing either. And most of all he didn't need-

When they stopped in front of his apartment building and Chin, and Steve after him - and not without help either - got out, the figure sitting at the stairs stood up. The first thing Steve noticed was a Navy uniform, then shoulder-length blonde hair when she took off her hat. It took another few moments before he realized who she was, even though the way his heart pumped - he must have known all along on some instinctive level.

"Hi," she said looking straight at him with a mixture of joy and pain.

Steve passed her by without a word, with barely a look and refused to acknowledge her strangled sob.

"Mary," he heard Chin's voice before the door to the building closed behind him. "He doesn't mean-"

He did mean.

He didn't want to see her.


	11. Through Sister's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** I’m going to pull Steve -- and Mary along with him, and even Chin a little bit -- through the wringer in the next three-or-so chapters.  
>  It has to do with the results of Steve's brain injury. Also, Mary obviously came to Hawaii for their father’s funeral.  
> If those themes might be uncomfortable to you, please approach the story with caution.

The sight of Steve on his feet, walking, glaring at her without confusion and unease had always been a shock to Mary, and she knew it always would be. A shock that made her heart go aflutter, that made her want to sing the Praise, but a shock nonetheless.

It was odd how the first thirteen years of her life felt like a blink of an eye - she could barely remember their Mother for example - but the next five felt like a hundred years. She might recall them day by day, if she tried a little. Even now, another thirteen years after she'd left home, everything that had happened in that time was her point of reference, including the mental picture of her brother.

When she had gone to Annapolis he could barely shuffle a few steps around the house, clumsily maneuvering a walker and he'd been mumbling curses in Chinese.

She hadn't returned for Christmas that year, or Easter. It ... had been hard. She'd spent summer vacation at additional courses and had only returned for Thanksgiving the next year. Steve had been walking with a single crutch by then and hadn't even needed that when inside. She had been astounded by his progress. Then she hadn't seen him for another year and she'd defaulted to that memory from before, to that shuffling, mumbling, broken man. Then, her amazement was all the greater and the cycle of memory winning over the real thing, and the real thing surprising her with the beauty of it, had continued to this day.

That first time she'd come back home, he hadn't spoken a word to her. Not because he couldn't, but because he hadn't wanted to - both Dad and Chin assured her he had been on a road to fully regain his speech. She hadn't known what she'd rather believe. She had wanted him to be happy for her, proud of how well she'd managed at the Academy and that she had followed the family tradition. Instead he'd apparently been angry and jealous that it hadn't been him.

Mary had tried to understand that. She had tried to express it somehow too, but she wouldn't give up her new career for him. It had been too late - the Navy wouldn't simply let her go after a year of training and the truth was, she hadn't wanted to; she'd found she'd enjoyed being a sailor. Besides, she had made  _Dad_  proud and that had meant more to her than she'd ever believed it would.

Their estrangement had eventually resolved itself. When Mary had been graduating the Academy Steve had congratulated her and those had been his first words to her in four years. The next day he'd added a curt apology. Mary had known from Chin that Steve had taken up some job at a car shop a few months prior and that had probably served to lessen his bitterness. With time they had started rebuilding their brother-sister bond, even if -in general- she'd heard more  _about_  Steve, from either Dad or Chin, than  _from him_  over the years.

The latest news, that one about their Father dying, had come from Chin.

She had expected Steve to be off kilter, there was no denying that. She had spent most of the past twenty plus hours worrying about him - not her own grief, because  _Steve_  had always been her and Dad's and Chin's main concern. But she hadn't expected him to be mad at her. He had no right to; she'd lost a father too. His blowing past her with an air of barely restrainer ire, made her weak at the knees.

"Mary." Chin brushed her shoulder, then she felt his arm on her back and, caught unawares, she was locked in his embrace. It released something in her, opened a valve that she'd kept firmly shut and she choked on a sucking void inside her stomach.

Her father had died.

Mary couldn't contain a sob any longer. She couldn't hide behind her Navy Lieutenant persona anymore, or even behind some lame, undesired concern about the only remaining member of her family. She was exposed, because Chin knew her better than anyone. Oh, she didn't need to be afraid - he'd never use that against her; on the contrary - he had always been able to pick up the pieces of her shattered self and put them back together. He would hold her until she could move again without fear of crumbling into shreds.

With her face buried in his Hawaiian shirt Mary inhaled a lungful of his scent and wondered how many times he'd held her like this. She wouldn't even dare count.

She had to let go sooner than she'd like. "We have to go ..." She wiped her face. "Steve ..." Sometimes all she wanted was to be able to  _not_  put him first. She was damaged by that accident as well as he was. Not physically, of course, but the way her world revolved around him, despite the emotional and physical distance that he forced on their relationship - it was not healthy.

"Uh, I-" An unfamiliar voice - timid, reluctant - pulled her out of those gloomy thoughts and she turned to meet the blue eyes of a short blond man. "Hi, I'm Detective Danny Williams." The man extended his hand toward her, his face open and sincere. "I'm sorry about what happened. I'm investigating your father's ... death." His voice wavered only slightly but Mary was grateful he chose the inconspicuous 'death' over a myriad of other, more extreme terms he could have used.

"Thank you." Mary couldn't choke out more than that.

"Chin, I'll talk to you later. About that Kamekona, or ... Give me a call if you need anything."

Chin let go of Mary's arm to exchange a few more words with the detective and Mary walked slowly to her duffle bag, discarded on the steps before the entrance to the building. She picked it up just as Chin neared her and, with his hand on her back, together they climbed the five steps leading to the first floor.

Steve pulled the door open as if he was standing there, waiting with his hand on the knob all this time.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked her like nothing happened. "Or coffee?"

Mary was looking at him, unable to say anything and Chin requested tea for the both of them.

"You must be tired." Steve took the bag from her. "How long was your flight?"

"Five hours," she whispered, still baffled.

He was off. He was so far off, Mary was surprised Chin hadn't had him committed yet. All jittery, like a supercharged particle in a physics lab. He was on the verge of exploding, she realized as if she hadn't thought about it a thousand times already. And when he would, it would not be pretty. And it would break her heart.

When Chin had called to let her know Dad had died, and she'd asked how Steve was taking it (because Steve always came first), Chin had told her that he'd been surprisingly well. Almost as if it hadn't happened to him. She'd freaked out that maybe something was wrong, maybe he couldn't comprehend what was going on, but Chin had assured it had simply been denial. A natural phase of mourning. Mary believed him, because she wanted to and, truth be told, she had been going through exactly the same phase. None of it had been real. It hadn't happened to her. She had spoken to her superiors onboard ' _USS Boston_ ', explained the need for an off-day, then she had flown here - all the while calm, no grief, no tears, as if she were coming for a visit. She'd allowed herself a strangled sob in Chin's arms a minute ago but that was all. Now she was beyond pain again. So could Steve, couldn't he? Except that he'd had brain damage, so with him ... all bets were off.

She focused back on the present, because he was talking to her, his gray eyes fixed on hers, warm, brotherly.

"You can go wash your hands," he was saying, voice more urgent than was necessary, strained. "Or, if you'd like to take a shower? The bathroom's down the hallway. I'll fix you something to eat."

She nodded. "Thanks. But make it simple. I don't think I'll be able to eat much now anyway."

As she was opening the door, she heard Chin tell Steve that he should get some rest, to which he responded that he was ' _fine, Chin_ '. Of course, what else would he say? Mary left the door ajar and stood at the sink, not turning the water on, not yet. She needed to hear their soft conversation, she needed to know exactly how  _not fine_  Steve was.

"Your hand," Chin asked hesitantly - annoying Steve was risky. "Is it tingling?"

"Yes it is, damn it!" Steve lost his temper and Mary thought with a hint of panic,  _Oh my God, it's gonna happen now_. But he contained his anger and she was as shocked by this as when she saw him walking. "Yes it's tingling," he said in a voice so low, she could barely make out the words. "And I'm having déjà vu after déjà vu, and I feel that my emotional responsiveness is getting out of hand. But for now ... I'm staying on top of it, Chin. I  _am_  fine."

Mary turned on the water and let her tears flow, at least for this brief moment. He wasn't fine. He was going to be sick and it was only a matter of when. If, as Chin said, he had evaded a fit so far - it had been what? Three days? Maybe he could do it for a little while longer. God, she hoped he would 'stay on top of it' for as long as she'd be here. She would go back to ' _Boston_ ' tomorrow afternoon and she would leave it all to Chin. She couldn't handle any more pain

* * *

Steve served her an omelet with mushrooms and asked about her recent promotion, her transfer to the Cruiser and whether she had a boyfriend in every port like any good sailor. It was so surreal. Mary answered, asked about Mercury Marquis in return and she even laughed at some silly joke, all the while aware of Chin's dissecting gaze fixed on Steve. When he took her empty plate to the sink she remembered why she was here.

For the funeral of her father.

She asked Chin if it would be a Navy Service like they'd agreed it should be and, immersed in the hushed conversation, they were both startled by Steve's gruff, "You shouldn't have come."

Chin's head snapped up and Mary could see he was about to lash out, to defend her but he couldn't. Not at Steve. Neither of them was really able to be angry at him. They were only worried.

"What are you talking about?" Mary found herself speaking, her throat constricted by unshed tears. "It's our Dad's funeral, how could I  _not_  be here?"

Steve lowered his gaze. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded on his chest, biting his lips. A picture of despair, trying to cover up with false bravado.

"When?" he asked, not lifting his eyes up to meet theirs.

"Tomorrow," Chin whispered. "At ten."

The silence followed. It was not a serene kind of silence. No; it was so charged that Mary could feel the fine hairs on her bare forearms stand on end. Steve still stood there, motionless, chewing some words that he didn't want to or couldn't say. Who'd really know with him? Chin looked at him but less openly, almost shy and he glanced back to her, maybe expecting support, or direction, as if she knew better. She didn't. She couldn't give anything, she owed him that and more, but right now he couldn't expect...

Steve's next words pulled the rug from under her feet.

"Mom was murdered."

For a moment there she couldn't breathe. Her head was spinning and she had to pinch her thigh really hard to make it stop. Through the roar of blood in her ears she heard Chin mutter some, "What are you talking about, Steve?" and then she was on her feet, screaming:

"It's Dad, Steve! Dad died!" as if yelling would help. As if shouting at someone whose mental capacity was hindered would somehow make them better understand the world complexity.

"I know," Steve choked out, seemingly puzzled by her outburst and that made her even more out of her game. It was _him_ who was not making any sense, not her, damn it. "Dad was killed now but Mom ..." He paused, like speaking was too hard, but not the way he would when neurons in his brain misfired. No, this felt more like he had a lump in his throat. He grunted. "The case file," he glanced at Chin. "The number we gave Danny ... Detective Williams ... It was a homicide."

What was he talking about? Mary had no clue what this was about, but at least Chin must have had a vague idea, because he jumped to his feet too. "He found that file? Why didn't you say-?"

"He didn't find it. It was not there. Lost. Taken. He doesn't know, and the entry- He only deduced that it was a homicide because of the number, or where it was recorded, I don't know." Steve rubbed his left temple and Mary found herself next to him, her hand on his arm.

"You need to rest, Steve. You're running yourself ragged."

"I'm fine!" he snapped at her, then, "Sorry," he muttered. Met her eyes, pleadingly, and turned to Chin who was right next to them now. "Hear me out. It makes sense. Why else would Dad be so hung up on that case? His wife was murdered and he wanted to find out why."

"Wait, wait. Back up a little." Chin cut in. "If Danny didn't find the file, then how does he know that it has anything to do with your mother's death?"

"It's the date. It was entered ..." he hesitated. "Sometime between April 18th and 20th, 1992, I think. He'd remember it better, I only ... registered ... that it was near ..."

"It still doesn't-"

"Why else would Dad keep investigating it for eighteen years?" Steve demanded, and then looked at Mary. "Did I ever tell you about the Champ toolbox?" He hadn't but Chin had. She had always talked to Chin more than to her own brother.

"I know about it."

"We took it from the house and there's all kinds of stuff ... Those pictures of a car destroyed by a bomb!" He glared again. "Did you ever see the accident report, Chin?"

"Well-"

"I didn't! He never wanted to show me, he'd always said I didn't need to see it! Did he show it to you?"

"I never asked."

"Well, I did. Many times. And then, my injuries, they didn't really make sense. Why the left side? And the burns? The only explanation I had was that I must have been driving but I was sure Mom would never let me at fifteen. Dad would, but Mom wouldn't. Now it's all clear. So, either I killed her or it  _was_  a bomb."

Mary needed to sit down. This was all too much to take in all at once. Losing a father was painful enough, but now finding out that their mother was murdered too? And what did Steve say? Did he wonder, all those years, if it might have been his fault, if he had been driving? She took in his form, his agitated movements, feverish eyes.

"And what about the dream?" he asked and Mary didn't know what he meant again. And again, Chin obviously did because he nodded reluctantly. Steve explained nonetheless. "I walk. Toward the car she sits in. She's about to turn the ignition and then I wake up. What if that's a  _memory_ , Chin?" He could never remember the few minutes before the accident. He had severe anterograde amnesia - that was a whole different source of worry for the family and a blessing for him at the same time, because he had no recollection of the first two years after the injury whatsoever - but the retrograde amnesia only spanned a few minutes. He'd remembered the morning, the argument with Mom, even the Mass and that he lagged behind afterward. He couldn't remember the ride in the car but ... maybe there was no ride at all?

"I'm sure he would have said something." Chin shook his head, obviously as taken aback as Mary felt. "We worked together, he would have mentioned-"

"He didn't trust anyone at the precinct, that's how the recording starts." Steve snapped, then closed his eyes and bit his lips. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "Not what I meant, Chin." Mary couldn't see Chin's face but she noticed how he bowed his head and his palms fisted at his sides. "I'm not implying he didn't trust  _you_. Maybe he didn't want you involved, get hurt by all this. You were like family to him, weren't you? Perhaps the only thing keeping him sane after the accident. You and Mary."

"Steve." Chin cut in, his voice changed, like Mary had heard only when she'd gone too far into despair and self-pity. "It's not the right time."

"It's the  _only_  time!"

"No." There was no argument when Chin got like this. "You're not in the right mindset to go through this now." He walked toward the cabinet purposefully and pulled out two vials rattling with pills. "Take these and get some sleep. I'm serious, Steve."

Either Chin's mind power worked on Steve as it did on Mary, or Steve knew himself how exhausted he was. It was another source of astonishment and relief at the same time, to see how self-aware her brother had become. He may have been driven to the point of obsession but he could accept that sometimes he needed to stop, because he pursed his lips and didn't argue one word. It wasn't even the evening yet but he said good night, hugged her so tight she wanted to cry and retreated to his bedroom.

Three hours later, having soaked Chin's shirt through with her tears, and having remembered Dad, and worried about Steve, because Steve had to be worried about, there was just no other way - she went to check on her big brother before she crashed herself. He was knocked out cold, but before he fell asleep he remembered to splint his hand - a routine to prevent contractures that used to be one of her duties before she left home to join the Navy. This, as so many things today, made her heart lighter and even a little happy in all the tragedy she had to face. She may always remember him as hurt and damaged beyond repair, but he was improving all the time and the fact was - he was almost a regular person now, his handicaps visible only to those who looked really close.

He was doing well on his own. Could she ask for more?


	12. The Funeral

Danny hadn't taken two steps into the precinct when Meka grabbed his arm -- not the one grazed by Duran’s bullet, thank you very much -- and pulled him away.  
  
"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked in a hushed but urgent tone. "Yesterday?" He clarified, when Danny spread his hands, instead of responding.  
  
"You mean Duran?"  
  
"Of course I mean Duran. What else would I mean? You go after a suspect without back-up, with civilians instead, and the suspect gets killed. Do you realize how it looks, brah? And what they could do to you?"  
  
"Williams?" As if on cue, Detective Kaleo peeked from behind the corner. "Chief wants to see you." He approached them with concern that gave Danny goosebumps for some reason. "That really was McGarrett's son with you yesterday?" he asked. "I thought he was brain-dead. What is he up to? Did he find some clues that we didn't?"  
  
Danny opened his mouth -- not to respond, but rather to tell Kaleo where to stick his inquiry -- but Meka thrust his elbow under his ribs and all Danny managed was, "Ungh!"  
  
"You better go to the Chief before he gets more pissed than he already is," Meka advised, his eyes boring holes in Kaleo. Obviously his feelings toward their fellow detective were no different than Danny's.  
  
"You're right." Danny massaged his aching side. All in all, Meka didn't intend to hurt him. "I'll do just that." He smiled at Kaleo with plastic politeness and strode through the precinct.  
  
So he was about to get fired. It was no shocker, actually; he'd been waiting for that day since he'd started working here.   _Haole_   with his level of competence was disliked, distrusted and everybody would be happy to have him off their fringe. They'd been waiting for an excuse and he gave them one. To his surprise Danny wasn't half as devastated by the prospect as he thought he would be. As he probably   _would have been_   a week ago. At least he was absolutely certain that he'd done the right thing, even if it was against the procedures.  
  
When he entered the Chief's office, he was faced with two people, the Chief and a Hispanic-looking man in civilian clothes.  
  
"I'll come later," Danny started to say, but the Chief motioned him inside.  
  
"No no. Please, come in." Chief Mahaka rearranged the papers on his desk. "Take a seat." He gestured. "This is Sergeant Cage from Internal Affairs. There is no formal investigation of your actions yet, but we wanted to make a preliminary review of your yesterday's foray. I hope there is some justification for what happened." He rested his elbows on the desk, fingers joined together under his chin, and glared at Danny expectantly.  
  
The presence of someone from IA made Danny uneasy. If there was no formal investigation, then what the hell was the rat doing here? They sat in awkward silence for a while, until the Chief urged Danny, "Perhaps you might tell us how Steve McGarrett convinced you to look into Duran?"  
  
The question was unexpected. Shouldn't it rather be  _'How did Duran get killed?'_  That was the matter for investigation. And that's what Danny was prepared for -- they'd discussed it with Kelly yesterday. The reason why they worked together was much more difficult to justify, especially if he wanted to avoid revealing McGarrett's sources.  
  
" _I_  learned about Duran," Danny clarified after a moment of deliberation. It was true after all. "I got hit to him from the ballistics report." Then he added, knowing full well that such an admission was a sure axe for his career. "I know I shouldn't have talked about the investigation with the son of the victim; it was unprofessional. That's my responsibility entirely."  
  
It was better than revealing how McGarrett coerced him, how he convinced Danny that the police wouldn't help him because someone in here was corrupt, how Danny believed him because he found out that the file containing the report of an 'accident' from eighteen years ago was missing. And that the said 'accident' was directly related with the death Danny was currently investigating.   
  
It might help preserve the remnants of Danny's pride as well, because the truth -- that he was in fact hijacked in his own car -- was not something he wanted to elaborate on.  
  
The Chief and Sergeant Cage exchanged glances.  
  
"What made you talk to him, then?" Chief Mahaka asked with furrowed brow.  
  
Danny shrugged. "Compassion, I guess."  
  
That earned him a snort from Sergeant Cage. "Detective, do you think we're idiots? What did McGarrett tell you?"  
  
Danny scrutinized Cage. What was he really doing here? They were obviously investigating him already, or else they were investigating McGarrett -- the son or the father, no matter. Were they the good guys, though, or the corrupt ones? It was impossible to tell. Danny knew absolutely nothing about Cage, and not much more about Mahaka. The Chief had ordered to let McGarrett go the other day; in hindsight it seemed like more than a coincidnce. Perhaps it was a predetermined move, a bait.  
  
Whatver the reason, as long as the brass did not include him in their plans, Danny wasn't going to give them anything.  
  
"He asked me how the investigation was going," he explained patiently, as if talking to a child. "And, because Chief Mahaka here told me the other day that the poor fellow was brain damaged, I took pity on him. It looks, though, that the Chief's information was outdated. McGarrett Junior is sane enough to have a PI license and a gun license. It's all perfectly legit, I checked. Of course, if I had known that beforehand, I wouldn't have spoken to him about the investigation. I swear I am not going to do it again."  
  
The Chief and Cage exchanged glances again.  
  
"You'll get a warning this time," Chief Mahaka grunted. "And, in fact, I  _want_  you to go and talk to McGarrett. Keep an eye on him. His father's funeral is about to begin in--" he glanced at his watch. "An hour. I want you to go there and offer your condolences."  
  
Danny blinked a couple of times. This instruction was odd. Of course he intended to go anyway, but being ordered to go? Their whole approach was odd. Danny had been certain he would be let go and instead he not only kept his job, he was also still on the case and with clear new orders. There was a reason for it, of that Danny was certain. And he would find out what it was.  
  
"Thank you, sir," he uttered. "Is that all?"  
  
After he was dismissed by the Chief, Danny returned to his desk and looked across at his partner. He needed to talk to someone, to share it, bounce ideas off and come up with an explanation, because his mind boggled from all the possibilities. Unfortunately, Meka leaned in and whispered,  
  
"Careful, brah." He raised one finger. "They want me to rat out on you, so the less I know the better. Now," he smiled, leaned back and said loud enough for half of the precinct to hear. "What did they want from you?"  
  
And Danny told him everything. Word for word. His opinions, though, he kept to himself.

* * *

  
Chin and Mary both opted against the viewing, so Jack McGarrett's comittal service took place entirely at the Honolulu Memorial. Many people came, more than Chin had expected. Quite a large group of policemen in their dress uniforms stood on the other side of the casket. None greeted Chin, not even with a nod, but he did not expect them to. They came here for Jack and he was grateful for it. As the former Navy Lieutenant, Jack had an honor platoon and color detail, due every officer below the rank of a Captain, but beside them, Chin could see more Navy officers and enlisted personnel. Some were from Pearl and Chin knew them briefly, but he also spotted some unfamiliar faces and he was glad that Jack's colleagues from Vietnam still held him in high enough regard. Some neighbors came too. And, most surprisingly, Governor Jameson herself.  
  
That was uncanny. Such an official, with an escort of her personal secretary and two bodyguards, at a funeral of an average policeman, but then Chin remembered that Jack had mentioned knowing her back when they had been younger. Apparently she remembered him as well and she wasn't there as the Government official, but rather as a private person.  
  
Mary stood on Chin's right as she received the folded flag from the hands of the chaplain. The place on her right remained empty throughout the ceremony.  
  
Chin tried not to think about it. Mary had told him, when he'd asked, surprised, where Steve was, that he wouldn't come. She'd said that he had been acting normal all morning. He had made them breakfast, agreed that they would go together then had washed the dishes while she'd gone to change into her dress blues. When she came out of the room, expecting him to be ready too, he'd only kissed her on the cheek and said, "I'm sorry." Then he'd left.  
  
Mary had told Chin not to worry, even though she'd been obviously troubled herself and, unexpectedly, Chin wasn't worried. Instead he was angry. Steve should have been here, despite his illness, his emotional instability, his whatever ten thousand excuses. It was his father's funeral and he should have come. The empty seat on Mary's right was like a slap in the face of his Old Man and Chin felt personally insulted.  
  
After the ceremony, when the people were slowly dispersing, Mary approached the older Navy officers and Chin, unable to go over to his former coleagues from the Force even to thank them for coming, stood uselessly over the grave and felt the loss of a good friend with its full gravity. When he'd been accused of fraud, Jack McGarrett had been the only one who stubbornly wouldn't believe Chin had anything to do with it. Later, when the money from the forfeiture locker had disappeared and all clues had been pointing to Chin again, when even the whole family had believed in Chin's guilt, and Chin had furthermore enforced those beliefs by resigning from service, McGarrett had still said he'd known better than that. He'd had no way of proving Chin's innocence, just like the officials had no way of proving his guilt, but his faith had never faltered. There were only two people ... well, three, who had believed he'd been clean. Jack, Steve and...  
  
"Chin," he heard a quiet voice and he realized he'd known she would be here. Kono Kalakaua, the only member of his blood   _ohana_   who'd stood by Chin throughout everything. Who was still not ashamed to admit that it had been Chin's example that led her to taking up a career in the police force. She was about to graduate the Academy. Now she came, because she knew that Chin had no one else with whom he could share the pain of losing his former training officer, his father figure.  
  
They needed no words. Kono wrapped her arms around him and they stood, his head on her shoulder, for as long as he needed. Chin didn't cry. He needed this moment, however, to get his head straight, to say goodbye, to return to the world of the living, or whatever it was that helped people get through funerals. He wasn't sure he found it. He was still rather mad -- at Steve, at the monster who did this, who took Jack's life. One thing Steve did well, Chin surprised himself with this thought: he took his father's case and started working on it. Wanted to solve it, find the person responsible. Chin hadn't wanted to do it at first, he was still rather against it, but since they'd started, the only reasonable next step would be to continue.  
  
Among the people who came to the funeral he had seen Detective Williams earlier. Now Chin looked up abruptly and, sure enough, he saw the blond less than ten feet away, looking around awkwardly.  
  
"Thank you, Kono," Chin whispered to his cousin.   
  
"Anytime, cuz," Kono replied. "Do you want to go some place, or...?" she hesitated, sensing his agitation.  
  
Williams was already ambling their way.  
  
"I have something to do," Chin admitted, then gestured. "This is Detective Williams. My cousin, Kono Kalakaua. She's about to graduate Police Academy."  
  
"Pleasure," Danny took Kono's hand with a wide grin. "Who knows, maybe we'll be working together." He winked, still gripping her palm and Chin, despite his already established respect for the detective -- professionally -- thought they'd better not.  
  
"You may let go, brah," he growled and Williams did as he was told, albeit awkwardly. "Did you learn anything new?"  
  
"Oh. No. And yes," Williams stuttered. "Chief Mahaka ordered me to come here. Which, not that I didn't want to do it myself and give my condolences to you and to McGarrett. By the way, I don't think I've seen him. Where is he?"  
  
"He didn't come," Chin growled again and hoped that Williams wouldn't pry.  
  
He was sorely disappointed. "To his own father's funeral?" Williams's surprise was as honest as it was annoying.  
  
"I don't think it's any of your business," Chin uttered through clenched teeth. He felt Kono's hand on his arm, a gesture of both support and restraint. He’d expected someone else would have to defend Steve from him today, but he couldn’t take this stranger have an _opinion_. The man must have had his reasons for wanting to avoid such a stressful situation. If he didn't feel stable enough, perhaps it was a better choice.  
  
Williams had enough sense to apologize. "In that case, please accept my sincere condolences," he told Chin, this time with a serious face. "Anyway, as I was saying, Chief Mahaka insisted that I came, and it felt a little odd to me. If they are suspecting Steve of killing his father, then why didn't they keep him in custody when he'd come there himself, right? It's probably about something else. They are watching him and I think they know he knows, only they're not sure how much. In that case I thought, why wouldn't we help him learn more?"  
  
"What do you have in mind?"  
  
"Well, we can't question Duran, which my boss is not too devastated about, by the way. So I remembered we were headed to that friend of yours, Kama-something. How about we go ask? Unless you have to..." Williams waved his hand. "Then I'll go myself. Just tell me where to find him."  
  
Chin shook his head, feeling a smirk tug at the corners of his lips. He wasn't yet sure if it was okay to smile, so early after committing his friend to the ground, but something in Williams's attitude made his heart a little less heavy. "His name is Kamekona and I'm sorry but I'll have to go. He doesn't trust  _haoles_  ." Williams rolled his eyes and Chin smiled, this time for real. "I'll just let Mary know that I'm going."

* * *

  
When Cmdr Joe White, her father’s old Navy friend, mentioned ' _The Arizona_ ' and Mary's grandfather, she realized just where Steve had probably gone to. She seized the first opportunity to excuse herself and try to find him. Chin had other business to attend to; she didn't really care what and where, so she took off by herself.  
  
When Steve had been sixteen, shortly before the accident, he hadn't wanted to join the Navy. He had dreamt about a football career, about surfing, and he used to say he'd never leave Hawaii. He used to say that maybe he hadn't been the Native Hawaiian, but he'd felt very much so. Both Mary and Mom had known that it had only been a phase. It had been to spite Dad. After the accident, when it had no longer been possible, he'd had regrets.   
  
On that Thanksgiving when Mary had come from Annapolis for the first time and Steve hadn't spoken to her, they had started manifesting the strongest. That's when she had found him here for the first time; at the Missouri pier staring at the Arizona Memorial where their grandfather, his namesake, was entombed. It hadn't been the only time; her presence had apparently evoked this longing in him again and again, over the years.  
  
He came here now, as well.  
  
She watched his silhouette for a few long minutes. He wasn't moving and she couldn't step forward either. She tried to find those tell-tale signs of how damaged his body was and, in all honesty, she couldn't. He stood straight, with ease, hands in pockets.  
  
When she finally approached him, he looked at her and smiled fleetingly. He wasn't at all surprised.  
  
"I thought I had all I wanted," he said, as if they were continuing some conversation she had no clue about. He turned to stare at The Memorial again. "I thought I was okay with my life, with who I've become. I have a steady job, can support myself without counting on disability pension. I like this job too, I really do. I'm independent. I'm more physically fit than anyone ever believed I would be, including myself. And I was, I really was proud of it. I still am. But right now--" he paused, emotions choking him visibly. "All this-- resentment-- It's back." He fell silent and Mary didn't know what to tell him. That he had every right to be resentful? Or that he shouldn't be resentful, because it would gain him nothing, only bitterness? It would eat him up alive, when he could just keep on living, working in a car shop and enjoying what was achievable. But she didn't say it, because what was the point? "Did you know that I got to the Ka'ala summit? Two years in a row now." He turned to her with a proud smile, but then his face scrunched and the smile turned into grief. "This year I wanted to finally take Dad with me, to show him that I  _could_."  
  
"Steve..."  
  
"And now this," he cut her off. "I know what it looks like. Me, playing a detective and trying to solve Dad's case. But I have to know, Mary! I have to know what happened to him, what happened to Mom. I'm the only one who cares enough."  
  
"I care too." His words hurt her, even though she knew he didn't mean it like that.  
  
"I know  _you_  do, Mar. But you're not here. You can't stay, can you? And Chin wants to leave it to the police."  
  
"Maybe he's right." Mary understood Chin's reluctance at making ' _Five-0_ ' the real thing, and Steve hadn't pushed before either. When they had set it up, it had happened shortly after Chin had resigned from the work at the police force, after all that affair with fraud. The PI agency had been a way to make them both feel better. Neither of them had truly believed it would ever have an actual case. And this case? Dad's murder? It was especially unfitting.   
  
"It's not just this," Steve surprised her again. "It's not only about solving Dad's murder and his toolbox case." Apparently his thoughts followed a similar track hers did. Only their conclusions differed. "Yesterday, what we did-- I felt free. Like on Ka'ala, like when I'm in the ocean. I felt normal. Granted I was exhausted later, but..." he looked at her earnestly. "I want to do it again.  _This_  is what I want, not working at the garage!"  
  
His eyes were shining, he was animated and God, how much she wanted to give it to him. Anything he wanted, there wasn't a thing she wouldn't do. She could even go to Chin and try to convince him, except that rationally? It would be the wrong thing to do. There were physical limitations that they couldn't ignore and Steve's agitation yesterday and even his today's absence at the funeral, were indication enough of how big of a toll running after suspects had taken on him.  
  
"What about you?" he asked suddenly and she looked up, not understanding. "Are you happy with how  _your_  life turned out?  
  
Mary shrugged. "Since when is this about me?"   
  
"Exactly," Steve whispered. "It never is. Take the Navy. Is this your calling? Sometimes I think you only did it because I couldn't."  
  
"Steve." She didn't want to go down this path. Jealousy, guilt. She didn't need that.  
  
"I only want to know if you're happy."  
  
"I am," she said with more conviction than she felt and Steve didn't push. They stood in silence.  
  
"I think you should say good-bye," she finally whispered. "You may not want to, but you should."


	13. An Instant, Lightning Brief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** As I said earlier, in these few chapters I pull Steve through the wringer and Mary and Chin along with him. This chapter is the lowest point. Some content herein may be triggering. 
> 
> I hope nothing I wrote is offending to anyone. I intended to write it with compassion and respect. If I didn't, it's because I lack skill, not purpose.

The cemetery was empty when they arrived. A lone mound of flowers among white tombs dispersed evenly in the green grass, was the only indication that someone had been buried here today. Steve got out of the car but didn't move away from it, staring, as if he stood before the dragon's cave.

"Come," Mary whispered, taking his hand.

"Is it-" Steve choked and Mary glanced up. It felt like she was seeing his face for the first time. Eyes too large in sheet-white face, chapped lips, slightly parted, panting. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea, she thought with a scrunch of her stomach. "Is Mom...?" he managed and Mary's heart sank.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed. She didn't even think... "I'm so sorry! I thought he'd want the Navy funeral, because he was always so proud of his service. God, Steve." The truth was she'd barely visited their mother's family grave, that's why it didn't even occur to her to have their father buried with them. "Chin said you didn't want to make any decisions, and I thought... Maybe it was selfish."

"It's not that." Steve stopped her. He still stood next to the car, still motionless, his voice strangled. "I've been here."

Mary didn't understand. She looked around startled. "When?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps you visited someone. Maybe with Dad; he had friends who-"

"No." Steve cut in again, his gaze still locked on the pile of flowers in the distance. "At Dad's grave. I've been here at Dad's grave."

Words caught in Mary's throat. That was impossible if the laws of physics hadn't changed; the burial had ended less than an hour ago and he was definitely  _not_ here. There was only one other explanation.

"Steve?" She was still holding his left, good hand in hers but he freed it and rubbed his right palm absently, turning to her with an apologetic little smile.

"It's a déjà vu," he whispered. A void opened in Mary's stomach. A bottomless well of vacuum that threatened to suck her out dry. Steve was still looking at her and he obviously wanted his smile to be reassuring. "It's nothing to..." he said in a small, quiet voice. "I been having..." He pushed away finally. "Let's go."

"We should get back to the car." Mary caught up with him in a few steps and held his arm to stop him from walking away any farther. He had a déjà vu, his bad hand was obviously tingling if the way he was aggressively massaging it was anything to go by and now he'd started losing words too. Things were going real bad real fast and she wanted to at least take him out of the open.

Unfortunately, he was apparently losing his sense of reality too, because he shook his head and jerked his hand out of her grip. He started walking toward their father's flowered grave again.

"You brought me here to say good-bye to Dad," he uttered. "And you were..." missed a word again. "I should do it!"

"No." Mary was on the edge of panic. She ran and stopped ahead of him, blocking his path, both hands on his arms. "No, Steve, you should get back to the car now. We can do it later. We can come back. Please." He shouldn't be standing; that much she remembered. She had no way of knowing how bad it would get, but he should at least sit down.

Steve looked at her pleadingly and his lips slightly quirked. He wanted to say something, maybe give her more arguments on why he should go, instead he only smiled. Then he pursed his lips and nodded. He held his right hand close to his chest and the muscles were so tense now, it was trembling. Mary could feel small tremors along his whole arm through the fabric of his shirt.

"Let's go back to the car," she urged and Steve agreed this time but he no longer could.

The whole right side of his body went rigid. The leg, the side of the torso up to the arm and neck. Mary felt him leaning to the side and she knew she wouldn't hold his weight. He had no control over his movements anymore, even though from the look in his eyes she knew he was fully aware of what was happening.

He was having a seizure.

There was only so much she could do to ease his fall to the ground. She protected his head and he was glaring at her, breathing with difficulty, unable to speak or to move. Involuntary grunts emitted by his constricted vocal cords sounded painful. She'd rather he lost consciousness right now, at least he wouldn't be hurting.

Mary whispered some nonsense words, some "it's okay, it's gonna be alright." She kept stroking his face and holding his gaze in vain attempt at providing whatever comfort she could. He looked like he was struggling against the vicious grip of the seizure but she knew he was only waiting for it to pass, riding it out, or perhaps hoping it would knock him out finally.

He remained alert for now, maintaining eye contact and only when Mary saw her own tear splash on his cheek and she thought it's been too damn long, she remembered that she should have measured the actual passing of time. Seizures always seemed to stretch forever when in reality, they weren't longer than two, maybe three minutes.

The seconds ticked by too slowly as she glanced at her watch then at his face, and back again. A minute passed and Steve was still rigid, his lips tinged blue, his whole face covered with a fine sheen of sweat. His eyes lost focus but he didn't appear to have lost consciousness, only awareness and that made things even worse. When his muscles started relaxing little by little, Mary knew she was up to the most terrible part of the experience.

She hadn't seen Steve having a seizure in over ten years. She knew from dad and Chin that he wasn't getting them as often as he used to, a few times a year at most. However, they would still mess him up pretty bad. Whenever they had happened while she'd still been home, she would run away, leave the calming and protecting and helping Steve out of the haze to one of the men. She hadn't been alone with him in such circumstances for a lot longer, even though she knew all the steps that needed to be undertaken.

"Steve?" she tried and was surprised that the word sounded so much like a sob. She wiped her face. He shouldn't see her so terrified; it would only spook him. He needed her to be calm, to be the rock, the branch he could hold onto. Mary took his left hand in hers. "Steve, can you hear me?" Her voice was still trembling. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Steve?"

He did not react.

Of course. It would take time.

She would probably manage to pull herself together before he would start responding. Meanwhile, Mary sat on her heels and took in her brother's appearance. His right hand was still bent at the elbow and wrist and curled against his chest. The whole body was arched to the right, head bent, right leg straightened and taut. A trickle of saliva flowed from the corner of his mouth. She had to put him in recovery position but she couldn't let him stay here too long, down on the grass. He needed to get back home, get some rest, recuperate. Mary had no choice but to call Chin to help her with this task.

* * *

Dealing with informants had never been a humiliating experience for a police officer back in New Jersey. Here in Hawaii, Danny was maneuvered into wearing an XXL size t-shirt with Kamekona's fat face on it, and eat a cone of shave-ice. At least shave-ice was good: sweet and cold. And Chin got a name for them: Sang Min. Unfortunately, that was all he was able to dig up.

Kamekona said he knew that Duran was in some business with that Sang Min and the Chinese girl was probably some form of payment. Danny's blood boiled at the mere idea. Sang Min's main occupation was smuggling people from China and North Korea. How it related to the gun McGarrett had been killed with, remained a mystery.

"This damned thing is more tangled up than a Gordian Knot," Danny muttered. "Listen, I know you guys don't trust me, but I think I've proven time and again that I'm on your side. There was something in that toolbox, wasn't there?"

Chin's phone rang before he responded but he was definitely going to nod, Danny knew that. He run his hand through his hair in frustration, as Chin put up a finger and answered the call.

"What? Where?" his voice sounded urgent and Danny looked up just in time to see him turn away. "I'll be right there." He hung up and met Danny's eyes. His own were guarded as if Danny would somehow see what the conversation was about just by looking too closely. "I'll call you," he uttered. "I'm sorry, brah, I gotta go. Look, maybe you can go back to the precinct, maybe you'll find something on that Sang Min character."

"Was that McGarrett?"

"I'll call you. Okay? Please, don't try to find me, wait until I call. It won't be more than a day."

With that Chin turned away and ran back to Kamekona's shack. Half a minute later Danny saw him, dressed in another of those ridiculous t-shirts, driving from behind the shack on a rusty and very loud motorcycle. That reminded him to tear the damn shirt off his own back.

What was he supposed to do? Go to the precinct and find something on that Sang Min character, that's what. This time Meka did not grab his arm in the entry but when Danny saw his partner's face, he knew something bad was brewing.

"What?" he spat sitting at his desk, opposite from Meka.

"I have no idea, brah. I'm telling the truth. But some mean guy came here about half an hour ago, went straight to the Chief and the Old Man said that as soon as you're back, you are to go to him."

"Oh. Why isn't Kaleo telling me about this?" Danny stood up, ready to go, but he couldn't forego one little pun.

"Kaleo left in haste a moment after the Chief asked about you. He called someone, stood up and almost ran out of the precinct." Meka cast a glance at Chief Mahaka's office and added in a low voice, "I think this guy is from the Navy or something."

Danny glared at his partner in curiosity but he didn't manage to ask about anything because the Chief had noticed him already and now bellowed his name over the entire office.

"Williams, get in here at once." He was nearly fuming with rage.

Having no other choice, Danny marched to meet his fate. A man standing inside was tall, buffed and, indeed, mean.

"I am Lieutenant Nick Taylor, CIA," he introduced himself not waiting for the Chief to do so, and probably believing that his name alone would make Danny's skin crawl. "John McGarrett's murder case is no longer your jurisdiction. Hand over all evidence and remove the case from your database."

Danny blinked in disbelief, then folded his arms on his chest. He knew that when it came to CIA, he didn't really have any say in the matter but he hated to be ordered around like some errand boy.

"Why?" he asked.

Lt. Taylor scrutinized him with unadulterated disdain and replied through clenched teeth. "Because those are your orders, Detective. Should your Chief translate them for you? Are you too dumb to understand?"

"No, I understand the  _words_  perfectly, Lieutenant. What I don't understand is if you expect me to what? Forget that I had a case? It's kind of hard to do with people, who have, you know, _feelings_. I invested my time and energy into this investigation and it's only natural that I would like to know the reasons. You're taking it over because...?" he made a gesture for Taylor to complete the sentence.

"Because it's a matter of national security," Taylor seethed.

"At least let me know if you have any leads. I want to make sure my investigation is going into good hands."

Taylor's face turned red. "This is no longer your case," he growled. "If you don't follow the proper procedure, you will be arrested for obstructing an international investigation."

Danny didn't answer immediately this time, because something struck him. His ambitions aside, he suddenly realized that McGarrett's case was way bigger than he expected. CIA, national security, international investigation? Plus, he'd just learned about that human trafficker, Sang Min. The puzzles started to fit into place. On top of that, someone here in this precinct was trying to cover their connection with the murder and it might as well be Chief Mahaka himself.

At least Danny hadn't had a chance to dig up stuff on Sang Min yet. This was the information he'd acquired with Chin Ho Kelly's help, so it wasn't in any way a part of the official investigation. He wouldn't have to give  _that_ to CIA Lieutenant Taylor.

Wait a minute. Weren't people from CIA - agents?

"Are you with the Navy?" he inquired and waited for Taylor to literally explode.

Instead, it was Chief Mahaka who cut in finally. "Williams, if you don't carry out your orders at once, you're fired!"

Danny turned an incredulous glare at the man. Was that supposed to be a threat? He was far beyond worrying about whether the damn islanders,  _kamaina_ or whatever they called themselves, wanted anything to do with him. Chief of police, his buddies, who-the-fuck-ever. They wanted to fire him? - he wouldn't stop them. He would even do a bit more than that.

"No worries," he spat. He'd known all along that there was no fighting with the CIA; he was only trying to annoy the damn cheeseball for the sake of annoying him, nothing more. He looked up at Lt. Taylor now and smiled smugly. "I'll give you access to all my files and the number of the box in the evidence locker. You can take all you want." Then he turned to Chief Mahaka. "And then I quit."

* * *

After a seizure, when his brain was still recovering from the trauma, Steve reverted to the state similar to the one he was in after the accident. The right side of his body was paralyzed, he was unable to speak and he couldn't understand what was said to him, or perhaps he couldn't even hear it. Later, he couldn't remember anything, although he sometimes recalled the early seconds of the attack.

When Chin got to the cemetery he found Mary holding Steve's head on her lap and him completely unresponsive. It was nothing unusual and Chin knew that, most of all, allowing emotions to take rein in such a moment was the worst mistake. So he pushed his worry and grief deep inside and knelt next to them.

Steve was on his side to prevent airway obstruction and his eyes were closed. He appeared to be sleeping. Having gauged his friend's state first, Chin looked up to Mary and saw that she was barely holding it together. Eyes puffed from crying, pursed lips. Everything in her expression screamed of the desire to flee but she held the fort with whatever strength she had left. Chin remembered the fourteen, fifteen-year-old child who watched her big brother painstakingly regaining bits and pieces of his dignity. He remembered what it did to her when the seizures started. When a brief anomalous electric discharge in her brother's brain would take away - even if only for a few hours - days, sometimes weeks of small achievements. Despite being many years older, she looked just like then - a helpless little girl. The sight broke Chin's heart.

"It wasn't grand mal," Mary informed him. "And I can't tell how long it lasted, but since I looked at my watch it was way over a minute, so it may have been three, maybe even more."

"A long one then."

"Long and ... strong, I think. I don't really know." She sniffed. "We should get him home."

Chin put a hand on her arm. "Let me do this."

He didn't think to wait. He didn't want to see her hurting like this, so taking Steve from here and into the familiar environment of his own apartment, seemed essential. He should have focused on Steve more when he started picking him up, instead, all he paid attention to was to free Mary from the burden.

Steve woke up.

And his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

He started to wail and struggle against Chin. His desperate attempts at escape, combined with total lack of co-ordination could even result in an injury and this time Chin received an elbow to the stomach that had him curl in on himself and then a flailing fist to the jaw. Steve tried to scramble and pull away and in his peripheral perception Chin heard Mary choke a sob, then run behind the car. Chin couldn't help her in any way now; he had to correct his earlier mistake and concentrate solely on Steve.

"Easy," he tried. His best friend was like a child now. Worse than a child - like a frightened animal. The seizure affected his awareness, his cognitive brain functions and dealing with him now was a delicate matter. Chin waited before approaching Steve until he stopped crawling which soon happened as he was exhausted already. "Easy, Steve." Chin moved so he was in his line of vision. His eyes did not follow Chin but at least he would notice movement and if he perceived it as a threat, Chin would see it and withdraw. "Easy. It's me, Chin. Can you hear me?" he spoke in a soft, quiet voice, edging closer and closer. This time Steve let him. "I'm going to take your hand," Chin gave notice. When he reached and grabbed Steve's left palm, Steve jerked slightly. He did not attempt to escape anymore though.

This was their only way to communicate right now. "Can you hear me?" Chin repeated, then instructed. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." He had to go over the command a few times before he felt a slight twitch of Steve's fingers. "I need to turn you on your back. I'm gonna try now, are you ready? I need that squeeze again to know you understand." Again, he only got a confirmation after reiterating the question more than once.

It took a lot of patience to deal with Steve in this state, but eventually Chin managed to get him into a sitting position, then he half-carried, half-dragged him into Mary's car.

"I'll take the bike," she requested in a manner of offer. "You'll drive him. Okay?" Chin didn't refuse.

He had known this would happen since the moment Steve had come to him three nights ago telling him that his father was dead. He had a déjà vu even then, a strong one. Déjà vu as well as a 'tingling' sensation in his bad hand, preceeded by strong emotions, whether real or irrational, were those tell-tale signs - an aura - warning him that the seizure was imminent. How Steve managed to tone it down, to avoid the fit back then, and apparently a few more times over the last days, was beyond Chin. Obviously facing the death head-on, coming to the cemetery, was too much. And Steve must have known it would be, this was why he hadn't come to the funeral in the first place. Chin felt bad about blaming him, about being angry at him earlier. Steve knew himself best and they should have trusted him.

Getting Steve out of the car and into his apartment was another challenge but he was getting more and more co-operative with time. He still wasn't talking and he would not be able to, probably for a few more hours, but at least he understood and followed commands now. He also appeared extremely tired and fell asleep as soon as Chin laid him on the couch in the living room.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered watching his still face, her own smeared with make-up.

"It's alright, Mary," Chin placed a hand on her arm and squeezed. "I'll stay this afternoon and through the night in case he needs anything."

"I should be able to do that."

"But you don't know what he needs anyway. I'm okay about it. That's why I call myself his friend. You are only his sister."

Mary's expression hardened but Chin didn't reiterate. She had chosen a life away from all this and ... no, he didn't blame her. She had been Steve's caregiver when she had been young enough to need to be taken care of herself. She couldn't want it both ways now though, so if she had regrets, they were hers to have.

* * *

Kelly had told him to wait but Danny had never been a patient person. He tried. He really did. When he was done dealing with Lt. Taylor and Chief Mahaka; after he'd placed his resignation on the old man's desk and listened to the beginning of a tirade on why it was a wrong move, to which he put a stop fairly soon; after he hadn't had to explain much to his partner ... now former partner ... because Meka understood - Danny got into his car and drove ... somewhere. He found himself at Grace's school but it was afternoon already and she'd been taken home, probably not by her mother but by some nameless driver. Danny even drove to Rachel and Stan's house and stared at the gate for a few minutes. He didn't want to go in though, because what would he tell his ex-wife? That he quit probably the only stable job he'd have on this god-forsaken, pineapple-infested hell hole of an island?

No, he had to find something else before he'd speak with her.

Truth be told, there were only two people he wanted to talk to about what happened and why he'd quit. Danny kept glancing at his phone time and again, he even had Chin or McGarrett's number almost dialed up more than once, but he was asked not to. Why? Why, damn it?

It was probably only a semi-conscious decision, but Danny realized he'd come to McGarrett's apartment building when it was already getting dark. He sat there long enough to see Chin and that sister, Mary, through the window. He made up his mind.

He knocked once and when no-one responded, he banged a few more times, louder. The door opened.

"I told you I would call!" Kelly blocked the way into the apartment. "What do you want?"

"I was fired," Danny said without preamble.

"What?"

"There's more to it, but I don't want to repeat myself. I'll tell both of you."

"Then you'll have to wait till the morning."

Danny wasn't in the mood. He had had to deal with an annoying CIA agent aka lieutenant of whatever, Navy or Army or even freaking Marines, and he felt like punching someone in the teeth. Going back to his crappy apartment and sleeping it off wasn't an option.  _Sleeping_ wasn't an option actually. He was riled up and wound tight like a freaking Jack-in-the-box.

"Listen. I've just ruined my career for your friend's vendetta. The least I deserve is to be heard."

Kelly looked into the apartment and Danny caught a glimpse of Steve sitting on the couch and Mary leaning over him, saying something.

"Not a good idea," Kelly summed it up.

"Damn!" Danny slammed his hand against the wall and felt his palm sting.

Maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe he could wait till the morning but he knew he would be driving around town, thinking this over and over and over, regretting his decision, because it was too impulsive and worrying what would Grace say about it. What would  _Rachel_ say about it and, more importantly, her fucking lawyer? No, he needed to know if it was worth it. He needed to know if he threw away the only solid job he might have here, for something.

"Chin." Mary came over to them. "He says he wants the detective to come in."

Kelly turned to her, disbelieving, "Seriously?"

"It's what he said." Mary shrugged. Then she looked up at Danny and smiled briefly. He noticed her eyes were puffed up and her make-up was all gone. The funeral hadn't been bad for her; he hadn't seen her cry there, but apparently what happened later had really tried her nerves.

Right now Danny noticed that Chin looked worn out too and he had a bruise forming up on his jaw. Perhaps he shouldn't have pushed? Perhaps driving around town all night was a better thing to do, than coming in right now? He had no choice anymore though, because the door swung fully open. With his heart in his throat Danny stepped through to face Steve McGarrett at his worst, if what he feared was true.


	14. Five-0

Danny wasn't a coward and if he was ever walking out of a situation, it was a tactical retreat, not all out running away. Like earlier today - he'd weighted his options and he'd known that the HPD had nothing to offer him anymore.

This moment though? He wanted to flee.

One glimpse of Steve McGarrett's crooked form was enough to freeze blood in his veins. Something had happened, something terrible, of which he had no idea, and it turned a proud, tough man into...

Steve was sitting on the couch holding his head up with obvious effort. After only a few seconds he leaned it back against the headrest with an exhausted sigh. His right, bad hand was bent at the elbow and the wrist, fingers balled in a fist and he held it close to his chest. He was propped up with a pillow on his right side as if unable to sit straight on his own. The worst though was his face. Pale, almost transparent, shadowed eyes and sunken cheeks. Danny hadn't realized until now how thin he really was, way too thin for a man his age and height.

"Take a seat, detective." Chin Ho Kelly pulled Danny a chair and Danny sagged into it like a puppet with his strings cut. He realized he was staring. "What is it you wanted to tell us?"

Danny turned his sight away from Steve, sucking in a breath. What was he even doing here? He had no right to witness this, as Chin had said. He'd asked to give them a day. It boggled Danny's mind that one day would be enough to recover from this state, but miracles happened. He clung to that thought.

He was staring again and remained mute, which was so rare for him that the unlikelihood of it only deepened his speechlessness. He would have bolted, he was one breath away from standing up and excusing himself, but then Steve whispered something. Mary, who sat on the armrest next to him, bent over to hear him better. Danny didn't catch any words. It sounded like a total gibberish, or ... a foreign language.

"He asks why you lost your job," Mary translated.

"Oh." Danny shook off the feeling that he was in some bizarre dream, grateful for the prompt. "Well, they were getting on my nerves, so I told them I quit. What?" he spread his arms seeing Chin's raised eyebrows. "They are racist! And don't tell me that Hawaii is multi-racial and multi-cultural, because if you're not from here - you're a  _haole_  and a  _haole_ is bad. What?"

Chin pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, not hiding his impatience, "This is important, how?"

"Oh, sorry. I just ... it's been a stressful day." Danny sighed and looked at the faces of the three people watching him, Chin's the most incredulous of them all. "Yeah. I know." He didn't deny that they had it tougher. If the funeral wasn't enough, he had a living, breathing - thank God for little gifts - proof right in front of his eyes. This was probably the reason he was babbling, actually. Talking a lot and talking fast had always been his weapon of choice in uncomfortable situations, and this one indisputably deserved fifteen points on a scale from one to ten.

He tried to look at Chin when he spoke next, but Steve's intense glare kept attracting his eyes. "See, this guy came into the precinct, saying he's taking the McGarrett case, and I had to hand it over. No questions asked - it's CIA. I thought you might want to know." He shrugged. Chin was still wary, but McGarrett's eyes, trained on Danny, silently demanded more details. "It is apparently a part of some international investigation," Danny went on, and then, like freed from a spell, he couldn't stop. His hands helped, punctuating more important details. "That makes sense. We wondered what that smuggler, Sang Min had to do with it, and now it's quite obvious. He must have smuggled the killer in, along with all the illegal Chinese immigrants. Maybe they're business partners in all the smuggling, I don't know. No," he anticipated Chin's question, "I didn't find out anything on Sang Min. Didn't really get a chance, they swooped on me right at the door. I'll ask my partner- ex-partner, I mean. But not right away, I don't want to get him in trouble with all that CIA sniffing around. I didn't tell the CIA guy about Sang Min either, by the way. Now I think maybe I should have, because that might help him catch the killer faster but then... I didn't trust him, you know. This must be that paranoia of yours - apparently it's contagious."

"Who is he?" Chin cut in hurriedly when Danny paused for breath.

"I don't know. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Nick Taylor. Wait a minute!" Danny glanced up at Mary. "Meka, my partner, said he looked Navy-like. Maybe you know him?"

She leaned back, as if his stare physically pushed her. "No, I don't know any Nick Taylor. There are lots of people in the Navy, you know. And even if he  _is_ in the Navy... if he's working with the CIA, it means his clearance level is much higher than mine."

"C'mon!" Danny threw up his hands. "It's about your father's murder. Couldn't you go through some channels?-" he broke abruptly, because Steve was saying something to Mary again. Danny couldn't mistake it now; he clearly heard words in Chinese. Mary looked up.

"What does he look like?"

"Tall. Had about a head over me. Buffed-up, blond, small eyes, prominent jaw. Ugly. And mean."

Chin watched Steve with suspicion. "You know him?"

Steve took in a breath, closed his eyes and responded very slowly, "Catherine. Rollins."

Danny stopped for a moment as Steve's hesitant, raspy voice reminded him all over again that the man was sick-sick-sick. Even if he was the one who wanted this conversation, they shouldn't have allowed it. They - his friends, but Danny too. He should have turned away and left. Like before, he was about to stand up and leave when he realized that Chin and Mary were astounded for an entirely different reason and his curiosity trumped common sense again.

"Catherine Rollins? That businesswoman girlfriend of yours?" Mary asked with furrowed brow. "Ex-girlfriend, sorry. What does she have to do with anything?"

Steve didn't answer and Chin, who looked like he knew exactly what was going on, pursed his lips and glared down at his hands.

"Chin," Steve rasped. He couldn't speak but he demanded that Chin did it for him.

"She's not a businesswoman, but a Navy lieutenant, like you," Chin admitted reluctantly. "She serves on... ' _Enterprise_ '?" He looked to Steve for confirmation. "You think she knows this guy?"

Steve nodded. Then he closed his eyes and bit his lips. He looked as worn out as a person could possibly look. He whispered something again and Mary glanced up at Danny apologetically.

"He says thanks. For coming and telling us this."

"I get it." Danny sprung to his feet. It was his cue to leave and did he ever feel relieved. "I'm ... uh ... anytime."

Steve made an effort to open his eyes and smile. He knew he'd overdone it, apparently. When his lids drifted closed again and he let his head fall back, Danny met Chin's eyes and he hoped his own conveyed all the apology he couldn't say out loud right now. Chin pursed his lips and nodded curtly, once.

A comment from yesterday came back to Danny, Chin's ambiguous words about Steve having 'his moments' and he had an epiphany - this was Steve in one of those moments. And yet, despite the fact that he was not able to communicate other than in Chinese and he could barely hold himself upright, Steve McGarrett was not only actively participating in the conversation; he took reins of it. Both his friend and his sister, and even Danny, looked up to him and revered his judgment.

It took special kind of strength to be able to do that. Danny was half way to the door when he turned around and looked at Steve McGarrett one more time.

"That 'Five-0' of yours?" he asked, planning to hit himself with a club tomorrow morning, first thing. "Do you think there would be a place for one more ex-policeman in it?"

He received something like a stifled chuckle and a barely perceptible nod in response, but he knew that the answer was 'yes'.

* * *

Steve woke up with a terrible headache. He only had one like this in certain specific circumstances, so he kept his eyes closed for a little while longer. It was day. He knew because the light grazing his closed lids was harsh enough to make the pain spike up a notch.

"Are you awake?" the soft voice of his sister felt like a drill right through his skull. "You want me to pull the curtains back?" She waited for his response and didn't do anything. Instead she sat on the edge of his bed and it dipped, making him nauseous. "I'm about to leave and I didn't want to do it without saying good-bye. Can you hear me? Please, Steve, I know you're not feeling too great, but I need some sign that you can hear me now. Please." Was she crying?

Steve cracked one eye open. Her face was swimming in the bright haze and his nausea rose to hardly containable levels, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. He even went as far as to try and lift his hand to touch her cheek but only managed half of the way. She grabbed it in hers before it fell back to the covers and held it up to her lips. She placed a soft kiss on the tips of his fingers.

"I will let you rest now. I love you. Always remember that."

He remembered he had been with her at the cemetery when the seizure had started, but nothing beyond it. He held her hand, not letting go for a while, but exhaustion won over and Steve found himself in the blissful darkness once again.

* * *

When he woke up a little later it was not as light. As he opened his eyes he realized it was because the curtains were closed now. There was no one in the room, but he could hear a soft conversation from the other part of the apartment. It must have been Chin. If Mary had left though, whom he was talking to?

* * *

"Here." Chin touched his shoulder. "You should eat something." He waited for Steve to return to the land of the living. "How about a soup?"

Steve opened his eyes and glared suspiciously.

"It's a good soup, you know." Chin smiled. "Made it myself. And you need to take your meds."

"Who was here?" Steve rasped.

"Here?"

"You were talking to someone. Earlier."

"Oh. That was probably Danny. Detective Williams," he corrected himself. Steve squinted at his friend. What was it as about the  _haole_ that he had Chin wrapped around his finger so soon? "He was here yesterday, remember?"

Steve remembered nothing whatsoever since the seizure, so he shook his head and felt like throwing up.

"Easy, easy. In that case I'll have to tell you all the big news. Looks like 'Five-0' is finally in business," was the first one he delivered.

* * *

It took a little longer and Steve caught a few more naps, before Chin's revelations started staying with him long enough he could track their logical progression. He presumed it was still the same day; the only thing that still bugged him was the fact that it was apparently not the day of the funeral, but the one after. He was knocked out far longer than usual but then - he shouldn't have expected anything less.

"So, whoever killed my father is a big fish," he spoke, staring at the ceiling above his bed. He could get up finally but there was no point, really, it was late evening and both he and Chin were about to call it a night. Before that happened, Steve wanted to run through all the new stuff they had, because it was all still foggy. "Can we assume that the CIA knows who that is?"

"Everything suggests they do." Chin replied with enduring patience and Steve wondered how many times they'd gone over it already. He seemed to recall bits and pieces of what might have been five separate conversations. "That Taylor guy obviously followed the offender's trail here and only then found out that someone was killed."

Taylor, Taylor. Why did that name sound familiar? Steve tried to dig it out of his jumbled memories, but the headache was getting worse again and he still wanted to set a few more things straight.

"Dad must have been onto something big," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "There is a clue in those things from the toolbox."

"We'll get to them. For now they are well hidden, don't worry," Chin assured, then chuckled mirthlessly. "I guess it's a good thing that 'Five-0' is up and running then." He was still not convinced about the whole deal, what contradicted his earlier arrangement.

"I'm surprised you just let Detective Williams in," Steve voiced his bewilderment.

"True," Chin nodded. "I didn't want to trust him at first, but he's a decent guy. Besides, I didn't really have a say, when the boss made the decision."

Steve didn't understand, "The boss?"

"You. He asked you if he could join and you agreed."

"When? I thought he was only talking to you."

Chin took a moment before he disclosed. "He came here yesterday afternoon and we all spoke..." he made a pause then continued in a more certain tone."He really surprised me, Steve. I was sure that he'd react ... you know, like people usually react. But he wasn't fazed at all and later he told me that the way you held yourself, it convinced him that you are capable of more than he'd given you credit for. If you want to run a PI agency, you'll do it easily, he said."

"Wait a minute." Steve tried to piece it together. "Are you telling me that he saw me yesterday? When I was..." he couldn't finish.

"Yes."

"Was I even talking?"

"In Chinese."

"Damn it, Chin!" Steve pressed his head into the pillow, staring at the ceiling again, suddenly feeling cold.

He hated situations like that. Not the fact that someone saw him in not-the-best physical form; that he could deal with. The realization that he had been talking to someone he didn't know or trust, interacted with him, and didn't even know about it, was far worse.

"How could you let him in?" he whispered.

"You let him in," Chin retorted. "You asked that he came in."

"I don't believe it."

"And he was impressed."

"I don't..."

"Steve..."

Steve couldn't bring himself to look at his friend. His head was throbbing and part of him wished he could forget all about this conversation now. That he wouldn't have to worry about facing Williams someday soon.

"Listen, Steve," Chin laid a hand on his arm. "I think you knew what you were doing."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can, trust me. And trust yourself." With a final squeeze to his hand, Chin stood up and announced the end of this conversation. Steve needed to rest. Tomorrow, he and Danny Williams would come, because the former detective had some ideas about running their agency. "If he's too bossy, I'll fire him," Chin warned.

"That's because you don't believe in 'Five-0'," Steve breathed out, his eyes already closed and the haze of sleep beginning to claim his consciousness.

"I still think it's more a dream than anything else." Chin's voice was tinged with sadness. "But I'm more willing to open up to the idea now, that there's the two of you wanting to pursue it. We'll see how it goes."

* * *

It was easy to understand why Chin trusted Detective Williams. Danny was a no-nonsense guy, reliable and professional. When he came the next day - and Steve was almost feeling like himself again - he started without beating around the bush, "Good to see you back on your feet," like it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Then he proceeded to explain how he viewed their enterprise.

"You are aware that if you want to keep this business running, you have to actually have cases? Not just Jack McGarrett's case, but normal, everyday cases. Things like, I dunno, cheating husbands, disappearing dogs, stuff like that." It wasn't exactly what Steve had thought of and it must have shown on his face, because Williams spread his hands. "What? Not your dream-come-true? You wanted something more noble? I'm not saying it won't happen. It very well might, a few times perhaps in your career. But I'm talking everyday stuff, because what you do every day, buys you food, and food is what you need to survive. So, I'm thinking about putting up an advert in the papers and answering the phone calls for the next few days." He looked at them. Steve nodded and Chin shrugged. "Great. I also spoke with Meka - you know, my ex-partner - and he'll look into Sang Min and some other stuff in a couple of days. We think it's wise to wait until it blows over a little. He also said that if he finds something that PI might take care of, he'll be directing people to us."

"In that case," Chin muttered. "I think I'll keep my job at the 'Missouri' for now, if they still want me. Steve, you might wait for this ground breaking phone call at Quiang Jin's as well. Sorry, Danny," he addressed the suddenly affronted detective. "I'm only trying to be practical. You're in the worst situation of us, not having the job and all and I'm sorry for you, but I don't feel comfortable placing all my bets on one horse. And if this doesn't pan out, another ex-cop working in security may not be the worst idea of all. I can talk with my boss for you."

Danny sighed and nodded his understanding. His expressive face couldn't hide his disappointment though, and Steve made a decision.

"I will place all my bets on 'Five-0'." He locked eyes with Williams. "We need to set up an office, don't we? Where are we going to talk to those people who'll call? We're going to need to keep their files somewhere and have a place to meet up. I think I'll start with that."

Williams nodded and visibly relaxed. And Chin, even though still uncertain, expressed his hope that 'Five-0' would become what they'd always wanted it to be.


	15. Friendlies

The next day police returned the keys to Steve's father's house. Chin told him to wait, they'd go together but Steve didn't heed the warning and he almost ended up overwhelmed again.

"I'm at the house," he choked to the phone. "Blood's everywhere."

"I'm on my way," was Chin's simple response.

When he arrived half an hour later Steve was already back inside, coldly assessing where the rusty stains on the walls could be washed out and which areas would need repainting. He was aware that he wouldn't be able to do all that work on his own.

Chin gasped from the door.

"I know," Steve commented, without turning to see his face; he could imagine it well enough: shocked, revolted, panicked maybe. He had been through all of it already and didn't need to backtrack. "When I got out," he explained nonetheless, "I started thinking - how on earth was I able to get in here back then, when I took the tool box? And I figured if I managed then, I can do it now. Sorry, I should have let you know that I was alright now, but you were probably half-way here anyway. Chin?" He turned to his friend finally, at the sound of hasty footsteps and then retching. He found Chin bent forward, having puked all over the bushes in the pathway. "I'm ... Sorry," Steve mumbled half-surprised, half-ashamed.

"Are  _you_  alright?" Chin asked, fumbling for a tissue and wiping his mouth.

"I am. At first I thought this was too much and I was about to have another seizure, but then I got myself under control and it passed. It wasn't an aura. I was upset but I contained it. I should have thought it would affect you too."

Chin shook his head, refraining from comment.

"Look." Steve didn't want to lose the focus, didn't want to let the emotions in just yet. "I'll need to clean it up," he returned to business, "and I kind of wanted to do it myself, not hire someone. I think I owe it to Dad." He looked at Chin, now unsure if what he meant to ask was fair. "Do you think you could help me with it?"

Chin shook his head, but what he said was, "Of course, Steve," and if there was a hint of resignation in his voice, Steve chose to ignore it.

Eventually Steve got help from three more people, Danny Williams - of course, why the hell hadn't Steve asked in the first place? – Danny's ex-partner Meka Hanamoa, who really wanted to meet Steve on friendly ground out of respect for Jack McGarrett, and Chin's young cousin, Kono Kalakaua. At first Steve couldn't understand why she wanted to help out; they'd hardly known each other, but on the second day she explained herself quite clearly. Chin had gone to get more paint and Kono cornered Steve.

"I'm not doing this for you, you know." She poked her finger at his chest from so close he could count moles on her cheeks. "Not even for the memory of your father; I'm doing it for Chin. You are so absorbed in your own misery - which, I guess nobody taught you otherwise - that you can't see what it's doing to him. And he would never refuse you, he has this illogical sense of obligation to all things McGarrett and you take advantage of it, just like your father had before you!"

"I do not-" Steve tried to interject in defense when she paused to take a breath, but she just shook her head and continued, unfazed.

"He's not alone anymore, all abandoned by his family. I'm a big girl now and I'm in his corner, McGarrett, so watch out. If you ever hurt him, you'll have to deal with me."

"I don't-" Steve tried again, but she simply walked away.

And he couldn't really deny that she had a point; he had been taking advantage of Chin's readiness to help, never stopping to think that Jack McGarrett had been an important figure in Chin's life as well. That perhaps their relationship had been even deeper than that between the father and the son. God, he wasn't jealous, was he? Steve really wanted to believe he hadn't engaged Chin in this arduous job out of spite.

When he tried to tell Chin that he didn't have to be there if it made him uncomfortable, all Chin asked was, "Did Kono talk to you?" And when Steve nodded reluctantly, Chin said, "Don't listen to her."

Danny Williams was something else altogether. At first he was outraged that Steve hadn't asked for his help; once asked, he started to complain about ... Steve taking advantage of his good-heartedness of all things. When Steve brought them all some good Hawaiian pizza, Danny nearly threw a fit, screamed that " _it's a sacrilege!_ " and refused to come within five feet of " _the thing_ ".

And then, "I don't understand why you have to repaint it all," he wondered, stretching his back. "It's not like you can  _not_  tell the buyers what happened. Sorry, but no amount of paint is gonna help with that."

"Buyers?" Chin froze mid-stroke, his brush hanging in the air, dripping paint like blood and his eyes boring holes in Danny. Steve made a move to step between the two men, because it looked as if Chin wanted to paint William's face and preferably in red. Chin turned his dissecting gaze to Steve. "Are you gonna sell the house?"

"I haven't decided yet," Steve lifted his hand in a placating gesture. "I have to talk it through with Mary and..."

"Would you want to live in a house where your father was murdered?" Danny confronted Chin and Steve really didn't appreciate it right now.

"I haven't decided yet!" he repeated, glaring at Williams in turn. "Maybe  _I_  would."

Chin returned to painting the wall without another word and Danny only nodded. His eyes were wary and a little sad, but Steve thought he saw understanding in them too.

In three days they were almost finished with the refit and Danny advised to re-arrange the furniture, so it wouldn't remind anyone about how it looked before they started the clean-up. The four men and one woman dealt with the task in a couple of hours, although both Steve and Kono were mostly getting in the way. At the end of the day Steve handed them a bottle of beer each and together they stared at their work.

Steve didn't want to sell the house. He just didn't know how he could afford living in it.

"That study," Meka waved his beer bottle at the desk in the back room and walked in there, glaring as he assessed it. It was like he read Steve's mind. "You might claim it for the office of that 'Five-0' of yours. It's perfect."

Steve and Danny exchanged glances. Why didn't they think of that? Searching for a place had been fruitless so far. All the offices for rent that Steve had visited when he hadn't been painting, those that were in achievable price range of course, were either too small, dirty, on the last floor, altogether ruined or all of the above. Moving in here and making it their headquarters would solve two problems at once.

French doors to the lanai framed palm trees and grass leading to the beach, and water stretching to the horizon. Warmth in the air and a golden sunset invited them out and Steve followed the call, filling his nostrils with the smell of the ocean. The others tagged along; he heard their steps and soft breaths as they too inhaled the evening breeze. He could get used to it.

"I checked that Sang Min guy," Meka spoke again. He sounded as if he didn't really want to reveal the information, but felt that he must. "Turns out we had him in custody a few times, but we can't prove anything; he's always one step ahead of us. I think he's got someone on the inside." He paused and his silence prompted Danny to ask,

"Do you suspect anyone?"

"I'd rather not talk until I have something at least vaguely solid."

"It's the police kind of thinking," Steve cut in with anger. "You can't arrest a thug until he kills someone."

"Because sometimes your gut instinct can be wrong!" Meka retorted, turning a fiery glare Steve's way. "There are procedures the police have to respect and, for your information, so do you, if you want to do this job. One stupid move and your license may be revoked."

"Oh, I feel threatened!"

"Stop it, guys," Chin spoke above their bickering. "What did you learn about Sang Min?"

"He's got associates in China, Japan and North Korea. A Chinese freighter left the Island last night. I learned unofficially that it was not very thoroughly checked."

"So, you think he smuggled the killer to the island and now helped him escape?" Steve couldn't believe this. They could have caught the crook. They were so close, if only Meka hadn't hidden it from them. Steve was quite certain the police officer hadn't only gotten this information today and he wanted to strangle him.

Danny took the few steps that separated him from both men and stood between Steve and Meka as if he anticipated Steve's fury in turn.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, but we can't rush it," he said and Steve didn't respond. He had nothing to say.

He had nothing at all. Nothing, besides the toolbox full of things that had no meaning either to Steve or Chin. Two keys, one insignificant, looking like any key to a locker at school, airport or any other number of places on the island, or outside it. Another one, a brass, carved key, evidently opening a drawer or a door of some classic piece of furniture. A coin, a stack of business cards, a floppy disc and a cigarette butt in an evidence bag. A photograph of a burned-out car and a postcard from Japan with stick figures drawn on it instead of "Greetings from Osaka".

What if it was all a delusion? This plan to catch the killer who was some international villain, one whom the CIA couldn't catch. Who was Steve to want to go after someone like that? He had no resources, no contacts, no funds even. All he had was his anger and stubbornness. He shouldn't have hoped...

He forgot about the people who surrounded him. And he definitely didn’t count on someone whom he had severed all contact with only a few months ago.

Chin and Danny were grilling Meka on the details of all Sang Min's arrests when Steve's phone buzzed with an incoming message.

"I'm in town," it said. "Wanna meet?" And it was signed, "Cath."

* * *

Missouri Pier at six in the morning was empty. Fog drifted above still water, soft wind brought the smell of fish and salt. Steve would have said it was like a déjà-vu, except this was not - it was him reliving a situation that had  _really_  happened. Nearly a year ago he stood in the same spot, at the same hour, staring at the Arizona Memorial and having one of his "I hate my life" moments. He wasn't usually so whiny, but sometimes even his resolve faltered. And usually he'd punish himself then by coming to his Grandfather's resting place to dwell on all the things he couldn't have. Able body and military career. Being the true legatee of the McGarrett family.

That day, a year ago, a woman came by and they were the only two people paying respect to the fallen sailors of the 'Arizona'. She was dressed in casual clothes and he found himself confiding in her before he realized what he was doing. She was a stranger he was never supposed to meet again and he was really depressed that day. Then they ordered breakfast at the port canteen and later, somehow, they ended up in her hotel room, having crazy, passionate sex. Steve didn't know anything about her except that her name was Catherine, Cath for short, and she was visiting Hawaii every now and again on "uh ... some ... business trips". The next day she would leave and they'd never see each other again. He was okay with that but for some reason they exchanged phone numbers when he left that evening.

He would lie if he said he wasn't thinking about her occasionally. More often as time went on. Still, she called him first. It happened a couple of months later and they started seeing each other regularly. Cath was all things he loved in a woman. No-nonsense, resolved, challenging. She was also mysterious - not that he minded. As it turned out though, her mystery was the reason for their fall-out eventually. She didn't want to talk about what was bringing her to Hawaii on regular basis, didn't want to reveal what that "business" of hers was. Then, three months ago, a man approached them at a cafeteria. Tall, blonde, mean looking.

"Hello, lieutenant," he addressed Cath and the lovely smile adorning her face a split second ago, vanished, replaced by 'oh, crap!' expression.

That man...

Steve's reminiscences came to a sudden halt, because that man... His name was Lt. Nick Taylor.

Steve felt hair rise on his arms. Why did Cath call now? How much did she know? Did he tell her to call? Or maybe it wasn't about that, maybe it was only a coincidence? In that case, could he ask her about Taylor, could he enlist her help?... No, Steve mentally shook his head, no, he couldn't tell her that he kept on the investigation that even the police were forbidden to continue, let alone an amateur detective like himself. He had no idea how close Taylor and Catherine were and more to the point, he couldn't predict if she would expose him and what would be the consequences. He needed to keep his mouth shut.

She came to him unnoticed. Startled him, saying, "It's where we first met."

He spun around and was blown away by what he saw. Catherine was as lovely as ever, but different, very, very different. This time, she wore her white uniform and held her hat under one arm. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a bun and she didn't smile.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she said boldly and sincerely. "I didn't know how to tell you. That first time... I was afraid that if I said I was a Navy lieutenant it would be like rubbing salt into an open wound. I was sure it was a one-night stand and such little omission of truth wouldn’t hurt, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. Then I thought I would just admit that I lied. And when we met - I couldn't. After that it was only harder and harder."

Steve nodded. What did she expect him to say? That he forgave her? Was that why she wanted to meet?

Cath took a deep breath and answered this unvoiced question, "Your sister, Mary Ann, contacted me a few days ago. She told me about your father. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." He didn't really want condolences from her.

"She also told me that Nick Taylor is investigating your father's murder."

So it was about that. Steve's stomach scrunched and he turned away from her, hiding his face. He watched small ripples of the waves breaking on the concrete of the pier, five feet below. Cath knew. Mary had told her. Damn it, how did Mary know about Cath? He must have slipped, somehow, maybe back then, when Williams had first come and Chin hadn't relayed that little piece of information. Steve hated this unawareness of what he'd done, what he'd said and this inability to predict how it would affect things. Loss of control.

"Steve." Catherine touched his arm. Their eyes met and her expression changed from somber to mischievous in the blink of an eye. "You realize that talking to you about this might get me court-martialed..."

"Don't!" Steve cut in. "I don't want you to risk anything for me."

"Don't be silly." She smiled broadly now. "It's not my first rodeo. I know my way around those things and to be honest, Nick owes me too, big time. He's not a bad guy, you know? He's not your enemy. It's the people he's after, so he's actually your ally." She paused for a moment, then sighed and spoke again. "I won't convince you to co-operate with him, though, because I know  _he_  wouldn't agree. And he would be right. Listen to me, Steve. Those people Nick is chasing are way above your league, okay? You can't fight them. Will you listen to me if I tell you to let it go?"

Hadn't he been thinking just that, last night? If she only appeared here to reinforce his self-doubt, then he didn't need her, he didn't want her around. They had been together only a few months and the hours they'd spent together could be combined in a week at most. But she'd gotten to know him well in that time, because when Steve shook his head with determination, she smiled again.

"That's what I've always loved about you, that fire. At least promise me you'll be careful," she whispered and squeezed his good hand in a friendly gesture. Steve felt a piece of paper being inserted between his fingers. "And if you ever need big guns to protect you, I'll kidnap the 'Enterprise'." She winked.

"How can I ever thank you?" Steve breathed out, closing his fist around the small note she gave him.

"Start with forgiving me. Then we'll think about the rest."

They hugged and she briskly walked away, all military composure and grace. Steve followed her with his eyes long after she turned around the corner and disappeared from his life for God-knows-how-long again.

Stunned, he thought he  _could_  forgive her. Maybe.

Only when she vanished was he brave enough to take a deeper breath and to hide the piece of paper in the pocket of his pants. He would read it once safely back home, where no one could see it. If it contained what he thought it did, it might change everything.


	16. Cut to the Chase

" _Those people that Nick is chasing are arms dealers, brothers - Victor and Anton Hesse. Anton was in prison in Asia not long ago and Victor was reported here, on Oahu. Then Anton vanished during a transport and someone on CIA watch-list was murdered. I don't know why that someone was watched by the CIA, but I'll keep looking._

_Those brothers - they are not murderers, nor goons for hire. They are arms dealers. If one of them killed and, at the same time, the other one was aided in his escape, it must have been a transaction. The order to kill came from someone higher up in the food chain. I didn't find his name. Yet._

_The Hesses are in the wind right now. If I come across anything I'll let you or Mary know._

_Please, take care of yourself and don't do anything stupid._

_Miss you,_

_C._

_PS. Have you watched any spy movies? Burn this message. Now."_

_._

Steve's paranoia was not only contagious, but also developing. He did as instructed and burned the piece of paper, having memorized the names and all the facts. Damn it, his father was on the CIA watch list? Why? Instead of answers, Catherine's message only brought more questions.

Patience was not one of Steve's virtues and waiting on news from Catherine was going to be torture, unfortunately right now it was all he could do - unless he befriended someone from the CIA himself.

Having no other choice, Steve decided to at least follow Danny's idea of an occupation to pass the time. He didn't have to like it - interviewing a crazed widower who accused his children of stealing his silverware - but Danny was right about one thing; they had to eat. And he could always hope that something more to his liking, something "certifiably insane" as Danny put it, would come along.

* * *

Kono Kalakaua graduated the military academy and Chin couldn't be more proud, seeing her get her badge and be congratulated by the Chief of Honolulu Police Department. She celebrated the occasion with her family but the day after it was supposed to be just the two of them having a couple of beers at  _Ahi'inu_  pub in Waipahu.

Of course he knew they wouldn't only talk about her big achievement. He was mentally preparing himself for having his head chewed off some time during the second or third beer. Dear cousin was worried. She hadn't said anything to him, but he knew she'd spoken to Steve on his behalf and he had caught her giving Steve burning glances every now and again.

She had known the McGarretts almost as long as he had. Hell, he'd occasionally brought her with him - a skinny kid, too shy to open her mouth - back in the days when he'd had to babysit Steve. She had been the one to call them Chin's  _Ohana_  when Jack wouldn't turn his back on him no matter what. If anyone had any right to criticize Steve, or Chin's involvement with the McGarretts - it was her. He would take it from her and he wouldn't get pissed, he told himself as he parked his bike under the huge fern outside  _Ahi'inu_.

Then he went in, looking for her mop of black hair. She wasn't in yet. When she didn't appear for another half an hour, he decided to call her. He wasn't worried, he didn't think there was any reason to be. She had this habit of getting late sometimes and all Chin intended to do, was to give her a light rebuke.

She picked up after the third ring.

"Yes, Meka," she said cheerfully. "I'm on my way. May be a little late, though; caught traffic on Kaukonahua Road."

Chin paused for a moment. Did she just call him 'Meka'?

"Kono? What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, swimming at Mokuleia Beach sounds great!"

And then the call disconnected and Chin gaped at his cell, totally flabbergasted for all of half a minute. Then his police training kicked in. First and foremost, he needed back-up, so he dialed Danny Williams's cell.

"Where are you?"

"We," Danny stressed, "are in Ewa and we've just managed to blow off our first potential client, because of your buddy Steve's impeccable manners. Do you want me to tell you what he said to the poor old man, whose only fault was-"

"Look, Danny, I'm sure it's an exciting story, but I think I may have a problem. Actually, my cousin, Kono may have a problem." His brain was processing her words over and over again. If something happened, she'd probably tried to tell him as much as she could in as little time as possible. Each word meant something. Mokuleia Beach was on the north shore, in Waialua, and Kaukonahua Road led there from Wahiawa - which was only ten miles north from Waipahu. Danny and Steve were west from his position, in Ewa and they could take another route to Waialua. He directed them there. "I have another call to make," he told them, remembering that Kono greeted him with the name 'Meka'. They both knew only one Meka - Detective Meka Hanamoa form HPD.

Meka's phone was busy and when Chin called the precinct, he was told that Detective Hanamoa was in the field. That gave Chin goosebumps. There was no time left to lose. He jumped on his bike and sped up toward the Memorial Freeway and farther to Waialua.

Half-way down the Freeway his phone buzzed so he drove to the side and pulled it out of his pocket with trembling hands. It was Hanamoa.

"You called."

"Yes, 'cause I had a very strange conversation with my cousin, Kono. You remember Kono?"

"Sure I do!" he could hear smile in Hanamoa's voice. "I'll tell you more, brah, we're colleagues now, she's started working at my precinct today. I'm not her training officer, though," he sobered now. "I wasn't at the precinct in the morning and Chief put her under Kaleo. What was the call about?"

Chin related the conversation best he could remember and Meka told him to wait up, he would consult with Kaleo, or someone who had an idea what was going on. Instead of rushing right away, Chin called Danny to share what he'd just learned. Danny didn't even say hello when he picked up.

"Your buddy here drives like a maniac and this car is a hundred years old!" he yelled straight away. "He wants to get us both killed! And now he's smirking!"

"Where are you, Danny?"

* * *

Danny held on for dear life with one hand, trying to keep the phone at his ear with the other.

"We are at some airport," he uttered, then heard Steve slip him a name. "What? Oh, Steve says it's Wheeler Army Air Field. Are we supposed to still go to Waialua?" he asked quickly. "Where is Kono?" And what was really happening, and he had at least a dozen other questions but he let Chin respond this time.

"I don't know what's going on," he heard Chin sigh. "But I hope your buddy Meka will be able to shed some light on it."

"Meka? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Well, apparently they are working together now. Look, Danny, I gotta go," Chin changed the subject. "I'm still a couple of minutes out and I'm on a bike, so I can't drive and talk. I'll explain everything when we meet and I hope I'll know more by then."

Danny hoped so too. And he hoped they would get there in one piece.

"You know where you're going?" he asked as he put his phone away.

"I told you that three times already," Steve snapped. "Do you have hearing problems or just short attention span?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe I would hear better if you weren't driving this antique at a hundred miles per hour  _one-handed_!" Steve gave him a glare and Danny felt his cheeks burn. Yeah, yeah, don't mock the cripple. Except that Steve, despite his disability, was anything but, so Danny decided that he could - ha!  _should_  - be mocked. Mocking was better than all out asking that he let Danny drive, because one - he'd never agree, for all the control-freak traits he demonstrated; two - that would actually be more arrogant than cracking a joke here and there, and three - Danny wouldn't even  _want to_  drive this piece of junk, thank you very much.

On top of that his phone gave off a hair-raising shriek that Danny allotted to his dear ex-wife. He nearly jumped out of his seat and Steve gazed at him sideways. He hit 'ignore' but it immediately shrieked again and this time McGarrett turned to face him with his eyebrows almost at his hairline.

"Eyes on the road!" Danny yelled, then, "What?" he snapped to the phone...

... and heard the most lovely voice of his sweet-like-marshmallow little pumpkin.

She started telling him about her rehearsal before her school theater performance of "Sleeping Beauty", where she would play the Fairy and he tried to apologize for his rude 'hello', but she didn't even notice and she didn't let him finish, instead kept chattering about Lucy who would play Beauty and that she was lovely and talented - and who dared to think that some Lucy was more talented than his Grace, damn it - and about Akahi who would play the knight, and Danny completely forgot where he was and what he was doing, until he heard a whisper, "We're almost there," so he told his Monkey all their usual goodbyes and huggies and I-love-yous and he hung up feeling happy and bright and almost floating.

"Danno?" asked a voice from his left and Danny's happy bubble burst in an instant.

"What?" he snapped.

"Who's Danno?" Steve damn McGarrett was smirking at him and Danny closed his eyes, took a deep breath and felt he was not pissed, at all. But Hell if he was going to explain anything, especially this, to this man.

"Just," he waved his hand."Drive."

* * *

After driving up the Kaukonahua Road for ten minutes, Chin saw Steve's Marquis parked on the side of the road at the crossroads outside Waialua. There was still no news from Hanamoa.

"Where did she say she was going?" Steve was on him before he took his helmet off. "Where did she call you from? Did you try calling her back?" he was shooting questions like from a machine gun. "What's going on?"

Chin had to repeat his conversation with Kono once again and he watched as Steve's brow furrowed more and more. Williams looked no less concerned.

"She was speaking in code."

"Like someone was..." Steve swallowed then finished in a lower voice. "Holding a gun to her head."

Chin felt cold. He'd tried not to think about it like this. He had tried calling Kono but all he'd gotten was 'out of range'.

He was staring at his phone when it finally buzzed.

"It's Hanamoa," said the voice on the other side. "I spoke to Kaleo and learned that Kono was supposed to babysit the son of a computer systems specialist who had been kidnapped earlier today. The guy's girlfriend was looking out for the boy with her. After your call we did some digging and we found out the girlfriend is the same nationality as the men who attacked and took the scientist this morning. That's too much to be a coincidence."

"It is," was all Chin could choke out. Kono. His little cousin, Kono got in trouble on her first day in the line of duty. She had no experience, she was too young. Chin felt sudden hate toward her training officer who didn't check all the leads, didn't tie up the loose ends and it might cost his baby cousin ... too much.

Hanamoa was saying something and it took a lot of willpower for Chin to focus on his words again.

"HPD is on its way, Kaleo, a few other guys and a SWAT team." Kaleo. That was the name of the officer and Chin didn't trust his ass. "They'll find her."

"No! Wait!" he shouted into the phone, pacing and running his hand through his hair. "We're in Waialua already, Meka. If you have any idea where they could have taken her, tell us, please."

"I can't, I'm sorry," he could tell Meka was sincere. "It's an HPD case."

"Give me the phone." Chin saw Danny's extended hand right in front of him. He hesitated only as long as it took him to realize what Danny intended to do. He handed the phone over. "Meka? This is Danny. I'm here with Chin and we have all that's needed to take them on. I mean the gear. Plus training. A week ago I was your partner, man, you know me. It's about my friend's family! Help the man out here."

Chin watched Danny listen to what Meka was saying with his heart in his throat. Kono's life was at stake and they could act now, or wait for the HPD to arrive in twenty minutes, maybe more, while very second counted.

"Thanks, man," Danny said and clicked the phone shut. "They only have some presumptions, nothing solid at the moment. The guy they caught was Serbian and the kidnapped specialist worked on some program regarding the security of the Hickam Air Force base, but they don't really know the purpose..."

When a growing roar of an airplane engines interrupted him, all three heads shot up and they all must have had the same thought.

"Interesting," Steve voiced it, as the plane flew right above their heads, really low and really loud. Security of an Air Force base, the direction Kono had given them and - Chin had a flash of realization - there was an airfield nearby. It all added up to one thing. "Into the car, now!" Steve grabbed Chin and pulled him away from his bike and into the Marquis.


	17. Smash, Boom, Bang

There could only be one commander in the field.

Steve McGarrett's reaction time was a millisecond quicker than Danny's but this time the ex-detective agreed on this course of action. The three men were in Steve's car in a blink of an eye.

"The only landing spot nearby is Dillingham Airfield," Steve explained as he was shifting gears and speeding up. "I say we get eyes on our people and we go in hot." He glanced at Danny. "That what you would do?"

Danny opened his eyes wide. McGarrett was asking? "That what I would do," he confirmed. Barging in wasn't his usual style, but in this case, that was exactly what he would do. They had no time to lose, that he knew when he urged Meka to give him the details of the case. They'd have to see what they were dealing with, of course, but that was a detail he would bring up once they got there. It wouldn't change their strategy; the Serbs would have to have an army to prevent the three of them from coming to Kono's rescue. Danny really got to like the girl and he definitely respected Chin, as for the other two men ... well, Kono was more-or-less their family, and you don't mess with family.

The plane was getting lower and lower in the distance and soon it disappeared hidden by the trees and low undergrowth. A moment later the view of an airstrip opened to their left. The plane was circling from the far end toward what looked like a warehouse located at about half of the length of the airstrip. McGarrett noticed the gravel road at the very last moment and swerved onto it at full speed. Danny, smashed into the side door, was once more both pissed and amazed at how he was able to perform such evolutions using only one hand. He slowed only by a margin and the old car was consuming the uneven road, screeching and moaning like it was about to fall apart any moment.

They stopped behind the fern thicket about twenty paces away from the building. Three men, two in suits, cases in hand, and one lousy bodyguard who didn't notice any threat, approached the building and they were just entering it.

"Let's gear up," McGarrett ordered.

Danny didn't object. Kaleo and a SWAT team were still at least twenty minutes out. Whatever was going down here might be over long before they came. If they were to save Kono, they had to act now and McGarrett didn't hesitate.

He was in his vest and buckled up with a holster as fast as Danny, even though he needed some help with the straps. He and Chin worked together in tandem, as if they'd been doing this every day. And knowing how crazy they were, they just as well might have, for kicks. Danny shook his head as McGarrett stealthily ran to the building's door and peeked through a small window. Then he returned to Chin and Danny.

"There's eight of them, the girl, three suits and four goons, two on the ground, two up on the balconies. The prisoners - the computer guy, kid and Kono - are in the center of the room. Kono saw me and she's ready to go. Danny, Chin - I need you to climb the ladders and take down those two up there. I'm in once you get rid of them. Everything clear?" Danny nodded before he knew what he was doing. Chin was already headed toward the ladder. "Go!"

There could only be one commander in the field. Danny had experience, was fit and he considered himself a leader rather than a follower. And yet, right here, Steve McGarrett took over without batting an eye. He had a natural skill and Danny nodded, said, "Yes, sir!" and ran to climb the other ladder shaking his head in half-amused disbelief. What had he gotten himself into?

Oh, well, he was going to have a plenty of time to wonder about that once this mission ended well. Now he had to focus to ensure that it did.

* * *

Before Kono got into all this mess that took up all her attention right now, she would admit she was rather angry at Steve McGarrett. She had all reasons to be, what with Steve being an egoistic ass and Chin being selfless if not self-sacrificing. The latter was Chin's own fault but it was easier to get mad at McGarrett than at her own cousin, whom she'd do anything for.

At the moment, though, when she saw McGarrett's face in the small window of the warehouse, she would gladly retract every invective she'd said, thought, or wanted to think about him. She nearly burst out laughing, despite the dire situation she was in, and only the thought that she needed to be alert in order to maybe co-operate with her rescuers prevented her from at least rolling her eyes. Who else would come to get her out of this mess? She wondered. Despite knowing her training officer - Detective Kaleo - only for a couple of hours, Kono would rather count on her cousin and his crazy buddy, than all the Police of Oahu.

She knew Chin was near as well, and in all possibility Williams, the ex-detective, too, so she leaned towards Mr. Lowry and his son, Evan, and whispered, "Be ready to hit the ground." They didn't uderstand at first, but Kono trusted they would know what it meant when the shit hit the fan.

The two men in suits who'd enetered the warehouse a few moments earlier were talking to the main baddie now and exchanging the money. Goons at the door weren't paying much attention to the outside, rather watched what was passing inside. They never knew when the guard at the balcony yelped and fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Then the shooting started. Kono first made sure that the kid and his father were on the ground, covering their heads. Her hands were free of course and she flung herself at Natalie.

* * *

Chin saw the blonde woman pull her gun and aim at Kono and he reacted on instinct. He knocked out the guard standing in front of him and threw him off the balcony, then aimed at the woman but missed. It was enough to draw her attention away from Kono though and start shooting in his direction. He had the higher ground so it would be easier to aim if not for Kono, who got in his way by throwing herself on the woman. Chin didn't want to hit her. Instead, he concentrated his fire on the other goons and took one or two of them down. Williams was already sliding down the ladder and McGarrett charged in like a mad bull.

Despite the advantage in numbers, the bad guys were taken by surprise and appeared to be overwhelmed. Kono was still struggling with her nemesis but before Chin could get to them and help, Danny yelled, "Out, everyone out!"

* * *

Apparently "chaos" was Steve McGarrett's middle name. There was no plan to this operation, other than "you climb here, you climb there and then we shoot." Danny should have taken over, should have forced his own plan, but when he thought better of it, he probably wouldn't have done it differently.

Anyway, it was  _Steve's_  fault.

Good thing that the element of surprise was definitely on their side and before the guards realized what was happening, most of them lay on the ground, dead or incapacitated. Then Danny noticed that one of the bullets must have grazed the gas cylinder, because it started burning fiercely.

He started yelling for everyone to get out, pulled the computer guy from the floor, saw Kono pick up the kid in the corner of his eye and then noticed McGarrett standing rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and panting, staring into the flames. Damn idiot chose this moment to have a panic attack or something. Danny pulled at his sleeve unceremoniously and had to help him up when he lost his equilibrium.

"'m fine," McGarrett murmured but he was shaking and sweating.

"Just run!" Danny breathed out and by a sheer miracle they managed to get out of the building a mere moment before it blew to all seven Hells. "You gave me a scare," Danny whispered to Steve.

"Yeah," was all Steve was able to say. Instead of speaking, he gathered himself off the dirt and marched towards the leader of the bad guys who somehow managed to escape the blazing inferno, aiming his gun at the man.

"On the ground," he ordered, and then... "Book him, Danno," he said with a wild look in his eyes and... a smirk. A little crazed and breathless, but still a smirk.

"Damn you," replied Danny.

The sound of police sirens in the distance stopped him from arguing, because, after all, it was going to be a pleasure to give the hand-cuffed criminal over to the best and the brightest of the Honolulu PD.

* * *

As the dust settled and rush of adrenaline-fueled blood in Kono's ears subsided a little, she noticed that the situation was pretty much resolved - and with a happy ending too. All of her friends were accounted for, as well as Mr Lowry and Evan. Not all of the bad guys got out and Kono glared for a moment at the inferno that the warehouse turned into, wondering if she felt remorse or relief.

Steve was standing there, glaring at the flames as well.

"You think they were dead before they burned, or..." she asked in a low voice, thinking mostly about Natalie. She didn't think she killed her, only knocked her out, but the thought of her burning alive was rather unpleasant.

"What?" Steve gasped turning to her and quickly shook his head, getting over whatever was on his mind. "Sorry. Yeah," he sighed. "I think they were dead..." Kono noticed a shiver.

"Are you okay?" she asked, unsure.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he replied too quickly then a corner of his mouth lifted in a weak attempt at a smile. "I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine," she said, but she shivered as well when she looked at the flames once more.

No point thinking about the suffering of those thugs. They brought it on themselves and they certainly wouldn't give her a second thought. Natalie was about to shoot her in cold blood.

She needed to think about her friends instead.

"I'm fine thanks to you and Chin and Danny," she told Steve to divert her attention away from bad things, and his as well. "Looks like 'Five-0' really is in full force."

"That it is." Now Steve's smile was truly genuine as he observed Chin and Danny cuffing the Serbians. "That it is."

"And Chin seems to enjoy it," Kono nodded at her cousin.

"Isn't it surprising?" Together they stood and marveled at the view then Steve bumped his arm into hers. "How about you join our ranks too?"

Kono gave it an honest half-minute thought. Then she saw her training officer jump out of the car, geared up to the teeth, ready to arrest every bad guy in vicinity, only to have him handed on a silver platter by no one else but the cast-out Chin Ho Kelly. Kaleo's face was priceless and Kono regretted not having a camera handy.

"Nah," she chuckled. "I think I'll stay and ask for your help every time I get into trouble. That should get you enough jobs to not be bored."

Steve joined her in laughter and Kono thought that maybe she wouldn't have to give him another reprimand for the way he had treated her cousin. Maybe that was actually what Chin needed, instead of brooding and being miserable.

Then she approached Kaleo to be briefed by him and she gave the most objective and to-the-point report she could give.

* * *

The news about 'Five-0's daring rescue of a computer specialist and - by extension - saving Hickam Air Force Base was widely commented in local press and the name of the agency soon became famous. It served them well, because now, every old lady searching for her cat was calling them for help. At least that was how Steve felt, because Danny claimed they were getting calls about missing children too and that was as important as chasing drug dealers with guns in hand. Maybe more.

Chin decided to give up his false pretense that he was still working as security on the 'Missouri' and moved on to join 'Five-0' full time. They set up their office in Jack McGarrett's old house on the ground floor, and Steve moved in to the second floor, giving up his apartment downtown. It was weird to live at this house, where his father had lived alone for so long, without him. But Steve felt he was doing it to honor his spirit too, so it felt right.

Kono still worked with HPD under Kaleo, but they were meeting on social occasions all the time. At a local high school football game Steve got to meet Danny's daughter, Grace and he thought he might get to like her a little ... at least as much as he liked kids ... when all Hell broke loose and they had an interesting case again, that brought them even more fame.

All was good. Steve often wondered what his father would think about this development had he lived, but then he knew - and it made him terribly sad - that if his father didn't die, none of this would have happened.

Steve only hoped that one day he would find the way to avenge his father. That he would find his killer and that he would solve the mysterious toolbox case.


	18. Epilogue

It was Danny's task to talk to all the middle-aged and older ladies. Steve just couldn't handle it. He would mock them, or piss them off - even if most of the time they thought he was cute and their compassion would exceed all reasonable limits. Actually, Steve getting pissed at their compassion - that Danny could understand. And that's why he agreed to talk to all the ladies - middle-aged and otherwise. And most men. And actually all the customers that came to their office. Steve would usually sneak out through the French door when Danny went to open the door and signaled it was such a customer.

That's what happened this time, except that this middle-aged lady - very distinguished and strangely familiar - asked to speak specifically to Steve McGarrett.

"I used to know his father," she said with a soft smile and that's when Danny realized who she was and where he saw her last.

"Mrs Jameson-" he choked out. "Governor. Yes, sir. I mean ma'am. I'll ask him right away. Please, take a seat. I'll go find Steve."

Governor Jameson kept smiling that soft, forgiving smile of hers and Danny felt a little like a fool. He caught Steve at the far end of his private beach and told him who came to see him.

"She knew my father?"

"She was at his funeral. You didn't know?"

Steve didn't. He was as shocked and as awkward in front of the Governor as Danny was and that made him feel a little less like a fool. The lady was very nice though and she managed to defuse the tension quite deftly.

"I wanted to pay my condolences," she said, formally at first, shaking Steve's hand. "I wanted to do it in person, but you weren't at the funeral. Due to health reasons I understand?"

"Indeed," Steve responded curtly.

"I hope you are doing better now?" she smiled again. She was warm, mother-like. "I heard about your success in assisting police with Drago Zankovic arrest and then helping with the Samoan gangs. Would you be so kind as to tell me more about how you're faring?"

"Of course!" Steve agreed. "Please, take a seat, would you like something to drink, water maybe, or tea?"

They sat and talked for almost an hour. First they remembered Steve's father, then talked about Steve's plans for the future. He confided in her that Jack McGarrett was investigating some people in the Force, who may have had something to do with his mother's death. Governor Jameson was surprised that she had not died in a car accident but apparently she hadn't followed the McGarrett history closely enough and when Steve told her that it wasn't so clear, she didn't dwell any further.

"If you ever need my help, Steve," she told him upon leaving and handed him her card. "Don't hesitate to call me. I will be keeping tabs on you, young man," she promised.

When she left, Danny rolled his eyes a little but in truth, it felt nice to have such an important figure in their corner. 'Five-0' had the Governor's blessing. Who could stop them now?

* * *

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> A year ago today I posted the first chapter of this story (on ff-net). Today I'm posting the last. Isn't that neat? :)
> 
> Thank you all, SO MUCH for reading it, for all the kudos and for amazing comments. You made posting it here worth while. ILU. *GROUP HUG*


End file.
